What You Don't Surrender
by caffeinekitty
Summary: No one else needed to know all the ways Shizuo could break. When Shizuo fell apart, he needed to know Izaya was the only reason for it. And a broken, afraid Shizuo was of no use to him whatsoever. Kinkmeme fill. Shizaya/Izuo.
1. Chapter 1

_**Originally posted on the Drrr Kinkmeme in response to this prompt**_**:**

_Izaya/Shizuo/Izaya _

_Trauma after rape, fear of touching, self-abomination due to being helpless, hurt comfort, vengeful!Izaya_

_Shizuo, even though he is the strongest guy in whole Japan, falls victim to rape. (after drugged by some people to whom he thinks he is helping)_ _Yet, contrary to what one might expect from someone like Shizuo, he completely shuts down, thinks he is guilty of what happened to him, develops a fear of being touched and feels inadequate and thinks that this is his punishment for being a freak of nature._ _Izaya (who is in love with him in his own twisted way) finds him/learns about this and feels possessive over Shizuo and rages as he tries to nurse Shizuo to health both physically and mentally._

_Yet, his twistedness and rage go so far to the extend that he finds each assailant and drives them to their own deaths by manipulating them into hopeless situations and he makes Shizuo witness each and every of them -Iza thinks that by getting revenge in Shizuo's stead, he can cure Shizuo-. But Shizuo can't take this, watching the man who claims to love him commit such acts for his sake. __I want them to cure each other into being sane again. Make it a relatively happy ending Anon, or somewhere close to a compromise._

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.  
><strong>_

_(Also, this one's pretty long, so it'll take me a little while to get these chapters up to date with the ones on the meme and my LJ - one day I'll find a site with a text editor that isn't batshit crazy, but this is evidently _not_ that day - so if you want to skip ahead the links are on my profile.)  
><em>

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><p><span>What You Don't Surrender<span>

Chapter One

It'd all be okay if he could just make it home.

If he went home, he could clean himself up, sleep it off.

If he went home, he'd be saf—

Stop. Just… _stop._

Shizuo kept his head down, kept his gaze on his feet because that was the only way to remind himself to move, to take one step, then another. He had to keep moving. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself.

He kept to side streets and alleyways; he couldn't run into anyone he knew. Even if he still had his phone, he wouldn't have called anyone. It was late; he'd just be bothering them for no reason, making a nuisance of himself.

So he'd just go home. Clean up. Sleep it off. It'd be better that way.

He couldn't remember leaving the place where they'd held him, couldn't even remember where it was. When he finally regained a claw hold on his senses, he was in an alleyway near the train track, bracing shaking hands against the wall while his stomach convulsed with dry, empty heaves. How long he stayed there, just listening to the rattle of the trains and the rumble of the expressway, he had no idea. Minutes. Days. Forever.

Now just breathing hurt. Maybe he'd broken a rib, or maybe he was just _broken_. He couldn't recall any other injury that ever hurt like this. He wrapped an arm around himself, like that might somehow hold him together, stop it all falling to pieces, and stumbled on.

Just get home. Then it'd all be okay.

The headlights and the garish neon from a street nearby wove and flickered in his blurred vision, pulsating in time with his unsteady heartbeat. It was like being in some fucked up circus; closing his eyes to block it out just made the dizziness worse.

He felt himself trip, felt the too-cold stone of the wall he had to lean against to regain his balance.

_Shit…_

Whatever they'd given him still coursed in his blood. If he wasn't _him_, it might have killed him.

Maybe it should have.

With every step, his clothes rubbed a sandpaper caress against his skin, every nerve reacting as though they'd just been rewired wrong. Kasuka would kill him for wrecking another set of clothes. At least in the dark he could pretend no one could tell everything was torn, ripped, ruined.

Everything.

Just get home. Just don't think.

Not about why every step hurt, not about why his teeth chattered, not about why his pants clung to the back of his thighs, wet and cold and—

Don't think. Just…

_I want to go home. Please. _

Please…

"My, my, Shizu-chan. If you look that bad, I'd hate to see the other guy."

The sound of that light, singsong voice sent enough ice running through his system to clear his head for a moment. Immediately, he longed for the numbing fog of the drugs instead.

In a streetlight spotlight at the end of the alley, loomed the very last silhouette he wanted to see. Backlit and blurry, Izaya was a black shadow edged in fur, with eyes that seemed to leave trails of light, like slow motion shots of traffic.

"Fuck off, flea." Just three words, but they made his throat ache, made his mouth flood with a bitter taste. He rubbed the back of his hand against his dry lips, but that just made it worse.

"Hmm, has Shizu-chan been paying attention to other people again?" He had no idea whether Izaya really was swaying as he walked closer, or whether it was his eyesight, but either way it made him nauseous. "And here I thought I was your favourite."

Go away, just get the fuck away from me…

He waited for the familiar surge of rage, waited for that white-hot anger to burn through the haze. But it never came. That part of him felt rewired wrong, too.

_Wasn't like it did you any fucking good, anyway. _

Squinting to try and clear his vision, he kept moving. He might be lucky; Izaya might decide he was no fun to provoke as he was now.

Yeah. Right.

Hands in his pockets, Izaya leaned forward, peering up at him. "So, what did they do to deserve it?"

_What did they do?_

Things

sliced through the back of his mind. Not memories. Just _things_. Cold concrete, colder hands. Laughter. Pain.

Izaya's image wavered again, but this time he knew it was his fault. Stars dazzled at the edge of his awareness, but if he shook it off he thought he might end up puking over Izaya's shoes, and then the damned louse would _never_ let him forget.

"I don't have time for your shit." He tried to take another step. Couldn't. The pain made it feel as though his entire spine was fused together.

_Just let me go home._

"Oh? I thought taking every opportunity to kill me was right at the top of your list of priorities. Now you can't even make time for me? Ah, Shizu-chan's so mean."

Izaya circled him, and Shizuo felt the sidewalk shift beneath his feet. The sudden sensation that tore up his spine when Izaya left his field of vision, moved behind him, made him stop breathing.

"Don't-!"

He spun, trying to keep Izaya in view, but the world kept right on going when he stopped. He had no balance anyway, so there was nothing to keep him upright when his knees buckled, and the concrete rushed up to meet him.

He thought maybe he saw dark red eyes widen in surprise. Thought maybe he heard someone say his name from far, far away.

Then nothing.

* * *

><p>For a moment, Izaya could only stare. Even for Shizuo in all his unpredictable glory, this was taking things a little bit too far. He took measured steps towards the blond's crumpled body as though it might rear up and attack at any given second.<p>

Well, it was Shizu-chan, after all… right?

"Hmm, that's not nice, Shizu-chan. Didn't anyone tell you it's bad manners to pass out in the middle of a conversation?"

He crouched next to the fallen form, and rested his chin in his hand. The shoulder of that white shirt was torn; Izaya poked a finger through the hole. Once. Twice. No reaction. Leaning back on his heels a little, he reached into his pocket for his phone.

"Come on, don't make me take a photo for posterity." He pressed a few random buttons in a parody of doing just that. "I could send copies to all your friends, your brother…"

Nothing.

With its main recipient unconscious, and therefore unable to entertain him with that disproportionately angry reaction, Izaya let his smirk fade. This wasn't unpredictable; this was just _wrong_. Unsettling. Like seeing a magnificent building reduced to rubble and smoke.

Izaya narrowed his eyes, frowning at the unresponsive form, sudden irritation tightening his fingers around the phone, making the plastic creak.

No one else was allowed to reduce Shizuo to this state but _him._

At least Shizuo was still breathing, even if it was too shallow, too fast. There were bruises on his jaw, dark smudges that looked as though they continued under the collar of his shirt. The shirt's cuffs were ragged, bloody; so was the one limp hand Izaya could see, the other trapped somewhere under Shizuo's body. In the unnatural glow of the streetlight, his skin had an ashen cast to it, and along with the scent of blood came something else, something sour and unpleasant.

Izaya reached out, carefully brushing a damp lock of bleached blond hair from Shizuo's closed eyes. The skin beneath his fingers felt clammy and feverish. Lips curving into a wry smile, he scrolled through the address book on his phone.

"It'd be bad for me if you died here, ne, Shizu-chan?"

While the phone rang out to the number he'd selected, he stood up, and looked around the empty street. No one seemed to be following. Nothing in the near vicinity looked like the aftermath of a tornado, so whatever had happened hadn't happened _here_.

There was no telling how far Shizuo had walked. Even in this condition, that scary body of his could have let him stagger halfway across the city. Izaya might have had contacts on every street, but they were useless if he didn't know where to start.

He glanced back down at Shizuo, and sighed softly.

_You never make things easy for me, do you?_

"Ah, it's me." He turned to stroll away when the call connected. "I have something I want you to pick up."


	2. Chapter 2

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender<span>

Chapter Two 

When Shizuo woke, he was staring at a ceiling that wasn't his. And for one blissful second, he couldn't understand _why_.

Until he moved. Pain lanced through him, creeping from one muscle, one nerve, to the next, until even opening and closing his eyes reminded him of what happened.

What he'd let happen. What he'd been _dumb __enough_ to let happen.

He leaned up, looked around. A few wires attached to him caught on some monitors next to the bed. Their beeping picked up a notch or two along with Shizuo's irritation.

Shinra's place.

_How__ the __hell__ did __I__ get__ here?_

The last thing he remembered was—

_"__So,__ what __did __they __do __to __deserve __it?__"_

-okay, fuck the last thing he remembered. The important part was getting the hell out of here. At least the room wasn't spinning too badly anymore, as he yanked off all the wires taped to him, and tugged out the IV. Without thinking, he pressed the back of his hand to his lips to stem the trickle of blood.

The metallic taste on his tongue made his stomach lurch. Images slammed into his mind like punches, each one leaving him more unsteady than the last. He could feel the echoes of hands crawling his skin with so much clarity that he had to look down to convince himself they weren't really there.

But they were. They slithered against him in the fading bruises on his arms, in the dull ache that thudded in his spine, in the way he couldn't even stand to look at his bare skin. He tugged up the sheet, wrapped it around shivering shoulders as he swung his legs off the side of the bed and sat up.

The click of the door opening was loud as a gunshot, sending more adrenaline singing through his blood. If he so much as touched anything, it was going to crumble to dust. Just as well he couldn't unclench his hands from the fists they'd formed. The nails digging into his palms were only a dim sensation, happening to someone else.

"Ah, you're awake," Shinra said cheerfully, opening the blinds. Shizuo grimaced at the daggers the sunlight stabbed into the back of his eyes. "That's a relief." The smile turned to a frown when he turned, catching his patient's escape attempt. "Don't try to move around too much, you still need to rest."

"I'm fine." He moved to get up off the bed. "I'm going home."

"Don't be so rash," Shinra scolded, reaching out to stop him. "You're still hurt, you should—"

Just Shinra's hand on his shoulder where the sheet ended and skin began. Just a light touch, cool and impersonal, but it burned into his skin like acid.

Next thing he knew, he was on the other side of the room, pinning Shinra to the wall with one arm pressed against the doctor's throat. Shinra's eyes were wide and glazed behind his glasses.

Pain knifed through him, hard and fast enough to send him to his knees. He was aware of Shinra coughing and trying to regain his balance, but it was all he could do to keep the darkness from swamping his vision. It didn't make sense; he'd had worse injuries, so why the hell did everything hurt so much?

"I… I didn't…" He tried to breathe as evenly as he could, waiting for his vision to clear, for his heart to stop racing. "I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay." Absently rubbing his throat, Shinra knelt next to him. At least he knew better than to try to touch him again. "And I know I can't make you, but please, get back into bed. I can't in all good conscience let you go home yet."

Maybe if he did as he was told, Shinra would leave him alone. Then he could sneak out once the doctor's back was turned.

_Sneak__ out? __Are __you __turning __into __the __flea? __You__'__re__ Shizuo __fucking __Heiwajima. __Since __when __do __you __sneak __anywhere? __You __wanna __leave, __just __break __the __goddamned__ door __off __and __go._

But he couldn't. It took all the will he had to climb back into bed, to try and stop shivering, while Shinra looked vaguely dismayed at whatever damage Shizuo had done to his monitoring equipment.

After a few minutes of ineffectual fussing over nothing, Shinra cleared his throat, still sounding a little hoarse. "About what happened, I—"

"Got in a fight, that's all."

"Shizuo, I…" Shinra began, voice apologetic and pitying, and fuck it, Shizuo wanted to beat the shit out of him before he found the words he sought. "I _treated_ you."

Treated him. Patched him up, cleaned away the mess, all the while tut-tutting over how the strongest man in Ikebukuro could be stupid enough to end up being—

_Shit._

But he was. If he hadn't been so stupid, if he hadn't been so blasé about the situation. If he'd accepted Tom or Vorona's help instead of being cocky enough to think he could handle everything himself. And if he'd truly wanted to free himself… he could throw fucking _vending __machines_, what the hell were a few ropes and a shot of drugs? Nothing. Even ordinary people could have struggled against that much.

Ordinary people would have fought harder.

He stared up at the ceiling, forced his breathing to steady until he thought he could speak without his voice cracking.

"Then you'll know why, if you ever talk to me about it again, I'll fucking kill you."

"All right," Shinra sighed softly. "If that's what you want."

At least Shinra was wise enough not to suggest calling the cops or something equally stupid. That wasn't their lives. An underground doctor should know better than anyone that, in this margin of the world they inhabited, some things were better brushed under the rug and forgotten.

What the hell were the cops supposed to do, anyway? He should have been able to deal with it himself, and he'd failed. It was fucking pathetic to go crying foul now. Besides, he was glad he'd been out of it when Shinra… _treated_ him. Doing that consciously, voluntarily… no, it wasn't going to happen.

And there'd be questions he wouldn't answer, words he couldn't imagine hearing his voice say.

He didn't notice how hard his fingers dug into the bed until he heard the mattress tear, heard Shinra sigh again.

"I can give you some sedatives. They shouldn't interact with the drug, and it might help you rest." A hollow little laugh. "For the sake of my furniture, if nothing else."

If he couldn't leave, turning off his thoughts was the next best thing.

Not trusting his voice, Shizuo stared at the ceiling and nodded.

He lost track of time after Shinra administered the sedative. It wasn't the same as last night – was it only last night? – there was no terrifying sense of losing control. Just a cloudy feeling, as though he was only tethered to his body with the thinnest of thread. He might have dozed, he couldn't tell. The sunlight slid across the floor, the shadows of the blinds taking on odd shapes and angles. The sedatives didn't ever quite knock him out; he wondered again how much of what they must have given him to have that kind of effect.

When the door opened quietly, he felt his body stiffen. Not the way it usually did; not with that ticking time bomb tension that was seconds away from reaching for the first inanimate object he could find as a missile. This different edginess had him scanning the room, looking for any other way to _run._

Celty slipped into the room, closing the door behind her, and he desperately sought for the undemanding tranquillity he usually found in her presence.

All he found was a nauseating chill at the prospect that Shinra had told her everything. That she knew what he'd done. He couldn't even look her in the… well, couldn't even look at her.

Fortunately, he didn't have to. Celty sat by the window, bringing the PDA closer on wisps of smoke instead of coming closer herself. Shizuo couldn't tell whether he was grateful or disgusted with himself for feeling sheer relief.

[How are you feeling?]

He shrugged. He didn't really have an answer to give. "I'm not" was only going to worry her, make her ask more questions.

Tap, tap, tap.

[Do you want us to call anyone? You shouldn't go home by yourself.]

What the fuck was everyone's problem with just letting him go home? Personally, he couldn't think of anything better than locking his door and never opening it again.

"Why not? I'm not an invalid. Once all this shit wears off, I'll be fine."

And every time he tried to imagine going home to someone's screwed up idea of help… He tried to picture Tom's awkward concern, Vorona's blunt efficiency, or Kasuka's—

No, never Kasuka. His brother could never find out about this. For all the things he'd seen, all the things Kasuka had silently accepted about him, if he saw disappointment in those impassive eyes, or disgust, or, fuck, _pity_, then…

[Well then, stay here till you're feeling well enough.]

Shizuo shook his head. "It's not necessary. Really. I'm okay."

He doubted either of them believed it, but what else was he meant to say? What the hell did it say about him when he couldn't even take the scrutiny of a headless fairy? Of a friend who'd never really judged him, however wrong he might've been?

Tugging the sheet a little tighter around himself, he frowned. "Where are my clothes, anyway?" Because he couldn't very well leave dressed in scrubs and a sheet.

Celty hesitated. Then [Well, they were torn, so we thought you probably wouldn't want them.]

He closed his eyes, feeling the lingering sensation of tacky material sticking to his skin again.

"Can you go and get me some cle-" He shook his head. They should have killed him. It couldn't have been worse than wretched conversations like this. Like he was some kind of snivelling _victim_. "Some new ones? Did I… still have my keys?"

The black smoke shifted in a nod. [And your wallet. I don't know how much money you had, but there's still some left so… No phone, though.]

Great. He couldn't even claim it was a mugging, although he still couldn't recall what happened to his phone. He remembered trying to find it in the tangle of his pants, remembered clumsy fingers on a blurred keypad, then… maybe he'd dropped it, maybe they'd taken it away. Stupid that he should fixate on something so trivial, but, fuck, it bothered him anyway.

[…is there anything else I can do for you?]

Leave me alone. Don't ask me so many stupid fucking questions. Stop feeling sorry for me.

"No." He shook his head. "I'm fine. Thanks."

Celty stood. [Then I'll let you rest. Oh, wait…]

The tendrils of smoke withdrew for a moment, before returning to place something on the edge of the bed. A pack of his favourite brand of cigarettes, and a disposable lighter.

[Don't tell Shinra.] The PDA was back. [He'll only complain about the dangers of smoking in bed or something. ]

Just for her, he managed a small chuckle. "I'll be careful."

Long after Celty left the room, those words still echoed in his head.

_I__'__ll__ be __careful._ But he hadn't been careful at all. He'd been reckless, stupid, complacent. He'd thought they weren't a threat, thought that there'd be nothing to deal _with_.

_"__You__'__re __sure __you __don__'__t __want __one __of __us __coming __with __you?__"_

_"__Nah, __you __guys __go __ahead. __I__'__ll __catch __up __with __you __later.__"_

And by the time it even occurred to him to use his strength, it was too late, it was _gone_, reduced to blind punches and mistimed struggles by whatever they'd dosed him with.

There'd been days, weeks, years, when he would've given anything for it to be gone. Anything. For a moment of being normal, ordinary, _human_, he'd have sold whatever warped, messed-up soul he had.

_Well, __I __guess __you __got __what __you __wanted, __huh?_

His fingers crushed the cigarette pack to a dust made of cardboard and sweet-smelling tobacco as he sat up, kicked off the sheets and got to his feet. Fuck waiting for clothes, he'd take whatever of Shinra's looked like it might fit.

He was getting the fuck out of here. He was going home.

* * *

><p>Late afternoon sun turned the Shinjuku office a warm gold. Izaya watched the reflection of the sky in his computer monitor, drumming his fingers impatiently on his desk while he spoke into his phone.<p>

"I see. Well, it can't be helped. If you do hear anything, let me know."

He ended the call, tossing the phone onto the desk with a displeased sigh. That was the fourth contact today to report back with precisely _nothing_. Useless. The rest still hadn't gotten back to him. No one knew of a fight, a brawl, an argument, even so much as a minor disagreement involving a blond bartender in Ikebukuro in the past twenty four hours.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd gone a little out of his way to keep tabs on Shizu-chan – how else would he know when the Beast was having a relatively good day and so time his visits to Ikebukuro accordingly? – but this time required a little more discretion.

Not for Shizu-chan's sake – for his own. It made no sense announcing his intentions, especially when he wasn't even sure what they were yet.

Chin in his hand, he dropped by the Dollars forum. He wouldn't ask, obviously, but even in that hotbed of gossip and rumour, there was nothing. The last mention of Shizuo was several days ago, something undoubtedly heroic about him getting in the way of a gang fight.

Useless, useless, useless.

His fingers drummed an irritated rhythm on the desk again, gaze landing on the discarded phone. Hmm. Perhaps there was a much simpler method of getting the information he wanted.

He leaned back in his chair when Shinra answered the call.

"What do you want?"

"So, has he told you who beat him up yet?"

"Beat him up?" Shinra repeated, carefully; he'd heard the same tone from clients who tested him, trying to gauge how much information he really had before they squealed.

"Well, it wasn't an accident." He spun in his chair, giggled up at the ceiling. Those same people always talked far too much when they thought he wasn't really listening. Humans did so love to be taken seriously. "Or did he finally take my advice and fell off a building?"

"I can't discuss a patient with you, it—"

"Heh, a little late to be ethical now, isn't it Shinra?"

"Fine. In that case, I won't discuss a _friend_ with you."

"Aren't we friends?" He stopped spinning, feet propped up on the windowsill. "And, if your memory hasn't become _too _selective, you'll remember I'm the one who told Celty he was hurt in the first place."

"Only because it suited you, I'm sure."

Of course it suited him. Shizu-chan was his to break. He wouldn't tolerate some idiot getting there first. Even one clever… no, lucky enough to find a method that _worked_.

"You know, it hurts my feelings the way you're always suspecting me of something."

"I can't hurt something that doesn't exist," Shinra said brightly. "So whatever you're planning, please don't. He's… well, I don't know how long he'll feel the effects of the drugs, so—"

"Drugs?" He sat up. "Why would he be…?"

Well, no, it made sense. The only way anyone stood a chance against Shizuo was to ensure he couldn't fight back.

But that didn't gel with the things he'd seen last night.

He questioned his own phrase – "beat up" – because despite the state he'd been in, Shizuo hadn't looked as though he'd been in a regular fistfight. They'd both seen the aftermath of those often enough to know the difference. Apart from those coin-sized, _finger_-sized bruises on his jaw, his face looked untouched. And who would beat Shizuo Heiwajima up without leaving some evidence?

Shinra was saying something again, but Izaya was cataloguing Shizuo's injuries in his head instead. At least, the ones he'd been able to see, which hadn't been many. His jaw, his hands. The torn shirt, only bloody at the cuffs even though the scent of blood spoke of more than just bruised knuckles.

And that reaction, when Shizu-chan turned on him as though Izaya was about to stab him in the back, what had _that_ been about?

The sun still shone through the wide windows. Namie hadn't messed with the air conditioning again. No one opened a door. But the room certainly chilled a degree or two when Izaya finally realized what had been so very unsettling about that scene last night.

Fear. Shizuo was afraid.

And the Beast of Ikebukuro didn't get that way because of a simple fight.

"Are you even listening to me?" Shinra was saying. Izaya had no idea what he should have been listening _to._It didn't matter, anyway. There were more important things on his mind.

"Ah, you don't have to give me the details, Shinra." He felt the arm of his chair creak under his hand, and forced his fingers to relax. "I can make an educated guess. How many of them?"

It took Shinra several moments to answer. When he did, it was with a resigned sigh.

_So __I _am _right._

"I'm not sure. Just based on his injuries… three, maybe four. He wouldn't talk about it."

_Obviously._

"Wouldn't? Where is he now?"

"He wanted to go home."

"And you let him go?"

"How could I stop him? He'd have broken everything in my apartment, including _me_, and if that didn't—"

"Tch." He cut Shinra off mid-whine, snapping the phone shut. He didn't even shut the computer off as he grabbed his coat and left the office.

The street outside was busy, noisy, and most of the crowd seemed to be heading for the train station too, but Izaya was alone with his thoughts. Alone with his blind _fury._

He was _afraid._

No, this wouldn't do at all. None of his precious humans were allowed to play with Shizu-chan. None of them were allowed to blur that meticulously delineated boundary for him; humans served one purpose, Shizuo another one entirely. He hadn't spent all this time cultivating the Beast's inhumanity just for some _idiots _to come along and ruin it all.

Shizuo was his.

_His_. No one else needed to know all the ways he could break. No one else had the right to see him that way. When Shizuo fell apart, he needed to know Izaya was the only reason for it. The only reason there could ever be.

And a broken, _afraid_ Shizuo was of no use to him whatsoever. So there was only one option.

_I__'__ll __fix __you, __Shizu-chan.__ Make __you __good __as __new. __And __then__ I__'__ll __be __the __one __who __brings __you __to __your __knees._


	3. Chapter 3

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender<span>

Chapter Three

How many times had he walked the streets of Ikebukuro? A million times, probably more. How many footsteps had he taken completely for granted, confident that whatever else was wrong – of which there was usually plenty – he had no reason to feel threatened by these streets.

How many times had he crossed at this intersection? How many times had he sloped past Russia Sushi, hands in his pockets, lost in his own thoughts and only paying cursory attention to his surroundings?

Too many times.

So it was strange that he couldn't _remember_ any of that.

Ikebukuro was an alien landscape. There were eyes in every one of its myriad shadows. He could feel anonymous gazes on him, sharp and icy as cold, driving rain. There were whispers on every corner, passing judgement, because everyone had to know by now. Even if they didn't, one look at him would be enough. Surely it was written over every inch of him, from the ill-fitting clothes to the hunched shoulders, and the desperation in his stride.

He didn't want to be out here. He didn't want to see anyone he knew. He didn't want to see _anyone_, period. Couldn't take their stares, their whispers, their consolation.

No… it wouldn't even be that; they'd be thinking it was about time the famed beast was brought down a peg or two.

That was easier to take. After all, they were _right_. He'd been so full of himself. Relied on a power that was ugly and unnatural to begin with. A power that had turned him just as ugly and unnatural with it. He lost that battle the moment he decided it was pointless fighting against it, the moment he even considered the possibility he could tolerate what he'd become.

A group of high school kids were approaching on his side of the street. Laughing. Joking. He kept his head down, fighting the urge to cross to the other side of the road.

One of the kids, showing his friends something on his cell phone and not looking where he was going, bumped into him. A nothing touch; the kid's bony elbow barely glanced against his arm.

"Hey, watch it." The kid began, turning to glare at whoever dared invade his personal space. His eyes went wide when he looked up and saw exactly who he'd just growled at. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't…"

He could still see the kid's mouth moving, but all he could hear was the rush of his pulse in his ears. Through the thin parka, its sleeve not quite coming down far enough to cover the bruises circling his wrist, the touch stung as though it had been made of barbed wire.

The kid stopped staring, lowering his head with a grimace. No doubt he was waiting for the creak of uprooted street signs, or the impact of a lamppost swung like a baseball bat.

Waiting. Hopeless. Scared.

_"__Heh, __who__'__d __have __thought __you__'__d __look __this __fucking __hot __when __you__'__re __scared. __Bet __you__'__ve __never __shown__ this __face __to __anyone __else,__ huh?__You__ should __be __happy, _Heiwajima-san. _That __makes __us __special.__"_

Shizuo ran.

Ran until his lungs burned, his legs ached, his eyes stung. He didn't slow down, didn't stop, until he was standing in front of his apartment door, fingers shaking too badly to manoeuvre the key into the lock.

Once inside, he locked the door and slid the security chain he'd never used before into place. Leaning against it, he closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

How many of these crude defences had he broken on some job or other, a kick that barely required effort shattering locks and hinges someone'd carefully closed? How many people had felt that despair that all the attempts they'd made to keep the scary shit out just didn't work?

Payback was a bitch.

His apartment was on the third floor, but he still checked that all the windows were locked. It was still light out, but the taller buildings surrounding his own cast his room in shadow. He didn't turn on the lights. He couldn't even bring himself to take off Shinra's borrowed clothes, even though the only thing he wanted was to go take a shower. Get clean.

He got as far as turning on the shower. The whole damn building was a mess, and waiting for the water to heat up took forever. Long enough for him to catch his reflection in the mirror before it started to steam.

Long enough to see those bruises on his jaw.

_And __there __were __fingers __there __again, __prising __his __mouth __open. __His __responses __were __sluggish. __He __tried __lifting __his __hand __to __shove __the __touch __away, __but __he __might __as __well __have __tried __dragging __his __hand __through__ thick __molasses._

_But the hand he lifted had been about the only thing keeping him balanced. Without it, the fingers gripping his hair – someone else's hand, he couldn't tell anymore – just held tighter. Pain licked along his scalp, bright and sharp, bringing the world into focus again for a moment._

_The one in front of him took advantage of his gasp, and his awareness dimmed mercifully when a thick, bitter pressure shoved past his lips. Tears stung his eyes as he choked, panicked, tried to pull back only to be shoved forward again._

_"No point fighting," a voice panted from somewhere beyond his line of sight, syllables in perfect sync with the pain arcing up his spine. "C'mon, that's gotta be a break from the norm for you, right?"_

_The fingers gripping his jaw loosened a little, thumb stroking back and forth in a cold, slimy caress that made him shudder._

"Heh, he ain't gonna be fighting anyone for a while after this, right Heiwajima-san? That strongest man bullshit ain't helping you much _now.__"_

The mirror cracked. It took several long seconds, and the sting of his knuckles, to realize it was because he'd just punched most of it through into the hall.

He stumbled back, only stopping when the steam-slick wall stopped him. Sliding down the wall, he drew his knees up to his chest, lowering his head as his breath began to hitch.

_No __point __fighting._

No point at all.

* * *

><p>As much as anyone tried to make themselves safe, if there was one weak link in the chain it was all worthless. It had been far too easy to sweet talk Shizuo's landlord into handing over the spare keys to his apartment, far too easy to convince him that Izaya was Shizuo's best friend <em>ever<em> - "Look, I even have a photo of him on my phone. No, he really _doesn__'__t _like having his picture taken!" - and he was awfully concerned about his well being.

Well? It was _true_, even if the concern was more for himself than Shizu-chan.

The door chain caused a flare of irritation. _Really,__ Shizu-chan? __Ah, __trust __a __primitive __mind__ like __yours__…_ Unfortunately for Shizuo, Izaya's hands were slender enough to allow him to wedge the flickblade in the gap in the door and prise the poorly-bolted slider free.

A hole in the wall greeted him the moment he stepped through the door, plaster and glinting shards of glass scattered across the hallway.

"Shizu-chan?" He felt the need to announce himself, in case more masonry was likely to implode. He wasn't here to be skewered by Shizuo's crappy apartment. Still, he followed the trail of destruction to the ajar bathroom door, cautiously pushing it open.

The suspicions that had taken root in his mind ever since the conversation with Shinra bore fruit the moment he peered inside. The shower was running, water long since turned icy. A shard of broken mirror fell into the sink, adding to a pile of jagged fragments glinting in the fluorescent light.

Shizuo was hunched against the wall, still fully dressed - albeit _badly _- and shivering. His bleeding hand left smears of red on his pants, and streaked along his cheek where he'd obviously tried wiping his eyes.

"Shizu-chan…"

"Fucking stupid…" Shizuo muttered, teeth chattering. Izaya had the distinct impression he had no idea who he was talking to, seeing as the conversation involved neither flying objects nor threats of bodily injury. For the sheer lack of any reaction to one's archenemy just showing up in your bathroom, maybe Shizuo thought he was merely a bad hallucination. "Just… can't get warm."

There was nothing to hand in the tiny bathroom: no extra towels, no bathrobe. Shizuo's taste in home décor didn't run to throws or quilts either, and so Izaya was reduced to snagging one of the blankets from the half-made bed, trying not to trip over it as he carried it back into the bathroom.

Shizuo flinched as Izaya loomed closer. Under any other circumstances, he might have enjoyed it. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't _now_, just that this edgy, pitiable, all too _human_ creature just wasn't his Shizu-chan anymore. The sooner he got that man back, the better they'd both feel.

"It's okay," he crouched, offering out the blanket, "it'll just help you get warm, ne?"

Shizuo blinked at the sheet, then at him, looking increasingly dubious. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping you out before you destroy your apartment. It wouldn't be good for you to get evicted, now would it?"

Though in that case, he could take Shizuo home with him, which would make things a lot easier. He'd been in the midst of concocting a plan to incite more property damage when Shizuo yanked the sheet from his grasp, wrapping it around himself and smearing more blood over it in the process.

Izaya sighed. "Have you _ever _thought before acting, Shizu-chan?"

The sheet muffled whatever reply Shizuo had to offer.

At least the search for something to bandage Shizuo's hand with was more fruitful. What did it say about someone who had no spare blankets or extra towels, but had enough of a first aid stash to make small hospitals blush?

_It __said __they __were __monsters,__ like__ Shizu-chan._

Feeling that boundary strengthen a little, like the thought was a pen reinforcing a chalk mark, he picked out a small bandage and some antiseptic and returned to the bathroom.

Shizuo had managed to drag himself up to sit on the closed toilet seat, just an unruly tuft of bleached blond hair sticking out from the cocoon of the sheet. Izaya resisted the urge to reach out and tug, because the likely outcome of that was a fist to the face and he didn't much want to raid Shizuo's first aid mountain for himself.

"We need to clean this up," he said instead, gesturing towards the bloodied fingers peeking from the edge of the sheet. It wasn't even a touch, just a displacement of air, but Shizuo slapped his hand away.

"I can do it myself."

Surreptitiously checking that none of his fingers were broken, Izaya nodded, holding out the first aid supplies. "Then it might be a good idea if you do, before you bleed out all over the bathroom."

"It's not that bad." Shizuo took the proffered bandages with a grunt that might've been gratitude.

"Hmm, you can't say the same for your wall. Ah, but it could be quite efficient, don't you think? If you'd punched a hole in the other wall, you could have watched TV from the shower. Speaking of which…"

In the silence that followed when he turned off the shower, he could hear how harsh Shizuo's breathing really was. His hands were still shaking a little as he wound the bandage around his knuckles, not bothering with antiseptic.

"You know, you should wash it out. There might be shards of glass left in there."

Shizuo flexed his fist when he was done, apparently satisfied. "Don't care."

Not about his hand, maybe, but it was painfully obvious Shizuo cared about something. Cared enough to break the only thing in the apartment that might show his reflection. Nothing else in the place seemed damaged.

_What__ did __you __see, __hmm,__ Shizu-chan?_

"What did the mirror do to you?" He mused instead. "That's seven years bad luck, Shizu-chan; do you really think you can afford it?"

"Isn't that about as long as I've known you? Then I guess I'd say I've had plenty of practice." Shizuo sounded a little steadier, a little less husky as he looked up with another displeased frown. "And seriously, what are you doing here?"

Well, he supposed he could give Shizuo most of the truth. And after all, the best lies were always wrapped up in sincerity. "I heard Shinra sent you home. Given that I'm the one who rescued your sorry ass in the first place, I wanted to see how my experiment in altruism was doing."

Most of that would probably have gone over Shizuo's pretty protozoan head, but he did manage to latch onto the important part. "I didn't need rescuing."

"Ah, okay." Izaya agreed mildly. "I should have just left you passed out on the street, then. I'll remember next time."

Shizuo glared at him, a familiar fire in amber eyes, even if it was a little muted. "There won't be a next time."

"Hmm." Izaya tapped his lips in mock-thoughtfulness. "I'm still curious as to why there was a _this_ time."

"If you expect me to be grateful—"

"Well, 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss would it?" Izaya's eyes narrowed. "After all, who knows what might have happened to you if I'd left you alone out there."

Shizuo paled a little, and looked away.

_Oh, __Shizu-chan, __now__ you__'__re __just __making __it __too __easy. __No__ wonder __some __loser __could __take __advantage __of __you __and-_

Izaya frowned, wondering why he wasn't particularly enjoying _that _train of thought either. He refused to believe anyone else could truly play Shizuo this well; there was some kernel of the fight, the rage, the inhumanity still left in there, he just had to find a way to coax it back out of hiding. Otherwise…

"Anyway," he said brightly. "Now I'm here, I might as well make myself useful. Have you eaten?"

Shizuo looked at him as though that sentence was just missing "kittens" or "babies" tacked onto the end.

"No. Didn't feel like it."

"Well you need to, it's probably making you feel worse. Besides, you need energy to heal, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he skipped out of the bathroom and back to the narrow galley kitchen tucked into one corner of the apartment. He wasn't expecting much; given Shizuo's penchant for fast food and sugar, Izaya doubted he'd so much as cracked open the oven since he moved in. Even the microwave smelled sweet when he opened it up, like it had been used to warm up pudding or popcorn. In his mind's eye he saw Shizuo doing just that, saw him carrying his treat over the to nearby couch, snacking on it while he flicked through the channels of his television.

Like a regular human would do.

He slammed the microwave door shut, forced his attention back to choosing between the various unappetizing flavours of the instant noodles Shizuo seemed overly fond of.

_No.__ You__'__ll__ never __be __human, __Shizu-chan. __I__ won__'__t __let __you._


	4. Chapter 4

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender<span>

Chapter Four 

You really knew you were seriously fucked up when you were imagining the flea rummaging around your kitchen, humming off key. Shizuo rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the flecks of dried blood on his cheek.

Ignoring the broken pieces of mirror, he splashed some cold water onto his face with his good hand. That small chill had him shivering again, huddling back into the sheet.

If Shinra'd had his way, Shizuo would have gone home with enough drugs to spark a small international incident. He'd finally agreed to painkillers he knew he wouldn't bother taking, but now he wondered whether there might've been something in there that prevented hallucinations.

Izaya stuck his head around the doorframe, nose wrinkling in a look of distaste. "You're not eating in there. Even Shizu-chan isn't enough of an animal to eat in the bathroom."

Make that really powerful hallucinations. Shizuo was a little surprised at how detailed his imagination proved to be.

_You__'__ve__ been__ paying __way __too __much __attention __to __the __fucking __louse, __really__…_

He followed the apparition out into the living room, ignoring the mess in the hall. It wouldn't be the first time he'd needed to get a wall patched up. Hell knew how much it'd cost this time. Maybe he could bug Tom for a loan until his next paycheck… at least, if he still had a job; no one would feel intimidated by him anymore, he wouldn't blame his boss for not wanting the hassle that was sure to come. Tom had already done enough for him already, far more than he deserved. He couldn't let the fallout from this affect one of the people who'd actually treated him well.

Besides… the thought of going back out there, the thought of dealing with people, made his breath catch, heart hammering. His judgement had never been the best, but now… how the hell was he supposed to tell what was a threat, what wasn't a big deal, when he'd misjudged so fucking badly?

_"__Nah,__ I __can__ deal__ with __this, __it__'__ll__ be __fine.__"_

Except it wasn't, and he couldn't even picture himself in that scenario again and doing anything differently, which just went to prove how stupid he really was. How much he'd taken for granted.

"I don't know how you can eat this," Apparition Izaya was saying, setting a bowl of what looked like noodles on the coffee table with a look of disdain. At the food, or the fact Shizuo had no kitchen or dining table like civilized people, he couldn't tell. Hell, it was his hallucination, it could be both. "I've seen better things thrown in Russia Sushi's garbage. Ah, but I suppose it fits Shizu-chan. Very… simple."

_Huh. __Even __in __my __imagination, __the __flea__'__s __still __an __asshole._

He wasn't particularly surprised that his own subconscious was insulting him, but that wasn't what tipped him off that it was real.

"You have nothing here to sweep up all that…" Izaya waved a hand dismissively toward the hallway, "_wall_. I checked. For someone who breaks things all the time, you really should have the tools at hand to fix them." A pause. "Well, you do have an enviable amount of bandages, so maybe you have your priorities right, ne? You can always replace a wall."

Whether it was the words, or just the motion of Izaya's hand, but his thoughts were filled with the memory of smacking that hand away, of the coiling dread that it was only coming closer to _touch_ him, to—

"What are you doing?" He had the distinct feeling he'd asked something like that before, too. Knowing Izaya – the real one, not the figment – Shizuo wouldn't get a sensible answer this time either.

"Making dinner."

Right. Because that wasn't fucked up or creepy in the least. Shizuo stared at the steaming food as thought the noodles were going to slither out of the bowl and snap at him.

"It's not poisoned." Izaya made a face. "Well, unless you count all those preservatives. Honestly, Shizu-chan… haven't you heard that muscle turns to flab as you age? And let's face it, you're not getting any younger."

_Says__ the __idiot __who __wants __to __be __twenty __one __forever._

Shizuo couldn't think of much worse; he supposed a part of him had always hoped secretly that wisdom really did come with age. So maybe it made sense that Izaya was never going to grow up.

He didn't sit, choosing instead to stand while he picked up the bowl and poked gingerly at the contents. Despite the fact he couldn't remember when he last ate, his stomach just didn't want to consider the possibility. Still, if someone had gone to the trouble of making something for you, it was a shitty thing to just throw it out. Even if said someone was the flea.

_And__ that__'__s __why__ you__'__re __a __fucking __fool. __If __the __positions__ were __reversed, __you__'__d __be_ wearing _the __damn __noodles __by __now._

He set the bowl back down. Izaya didn't even acknowledge it one way or another, too occupied with making himself comfortable on Shizuo's couch.

"What the fuck do you want? And don't give me crap about wanting to see how I was because we both know you don't give a shit.

Izaya sighed. "What, I can't be genuinely concerned?"

"Who the hell is 'genuine' now?"

"Ah, that's my Shizu-chan." The damn flea had the nerve to _smile_, as though that was something to be happy about. "I forgot how refreshing your sheer lack of debating skills can be."

The fuck… it wasn't as though he'd ever needed debating skills. No one argued with airborne vending machines.

Well… almost no one. No one remotely _sane._

"You wanna debate? We hate each other's guts. Usually, you don't go 'round to the house of someone whose guts you hate to see if they're okay."

"Hmm, so you'd have been out celebrating now if you'd found me in that state last night?" Izaya tilted his head contemplatively, before fixing him with a narrow-eyed grin. "You see, Shizu-chan, this is the problem with unpredictability. It tends to leave you floundering, don't you think?"

"Yeah, and my problem is you." Shizuo growled, partly because he had no idea what the hell the flea was talking about now, and partly because that _thought_…

What _would_ he do if it was Izaya, not him?

Hell, the flea was twisted enough, he'd probably have enjoyed it.

Guilt drew cold claws over his stomach. No. It had nothing to do with enjoyment. It wasn't meant to be enjoyed, even he knew that. Even he could tell the difference. Or he thought he could. Now when he tried to remember someone else touching him, someone intending to offer comfort, or pleasure, he couldn't. It was as though last night was the first time he'd ever been touched at all, and he had no other reference to hold against it.

But Izaya would never feel like this. Izaya would either be acting like the whole thing was one big fucking joke, or he'd be on his cell phone organizing the deposit of some concrete-booted refuse into Tokyo Bay. Or both.

_Izaya __wouldn__'__t __be __hiding._

Whatever. Shizuo didn't care. He was tired of second-guessing, tired of conversations that went in circles. Surely there was someone _else_in the city whose day needed ruining by one of Izaya's impromptu visits?

"Just get the fuck out. I don't feel like dealing with your crap."

"Oh? Only 'get the fuck out'?" Izaya made no moves to _do_ that, just leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "No threats of harming my nubile form, no witty protozoan insults? I mean, this is the second time in as many days that you haven't tried to kill me. Are you mellowing in your old age, Shizu-chan?" Izaya propped his chin on his hand, smiled slowly. "Or are you still drugged to the gills?"

A chill raked up Shizuo's spine. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Please, it was obvious. Anyone could tell. But that's not like you, Shizu-chan. What happened, did a party get out of hand?"

_"__C__'__mon__ Heiwajima-san,__ let__'__s __go __have __a __little __private __party.__"_

He closed his eyes against the rising wave of nausea, but the thought had already wormed its way in. Either Izaya didn't notice, or didn't care, because he just kept talking. Ridiculously enough, Shizuo was relieved he didn't need to participate in the conversation. It gave him time to remember how to breathe without the room spinning.

"You know, I thought about taking you home, but you never know where strays have been, whether they're going to bite you, crap on your carpet… You'd probably feel better at my place, though. It's much more conducive to healing than this place. And I have better food."

"Healing?" Shizuo snorted, forcing the sound past too-dry lips. "Who the fuck says I wouldn't just kill you dead? Your 'healing' wouldn't do you much good then."

Izaya sent him a sidelong smile, the sort of look a snake might give a mouse just before swallowing it whole. "Ah, but I'm not the one who's…"

_Broken,_ Shizuo's mind whispered.

"Injured." Izaya said instead.

"Not yet."

"So you keep saying, but I've been sitting here for a while now and…" Izaya pretended to look down at himself. "Yes, all limbs present and accounted for."

The best way to stop Izaya talking _was_ probably murder. At the very least, throwing shit at him would keep him occupied long enough for Shizuo to get him the hell out.

But there was a perverse sort of sense to it. It was all he deserved for having such shitty timing as to be able to walk halfway across the city only to pass out at the Flea's feet. And, really, if he had to see anyone it might as well be the one person who already knew he was a monster. It wasn't as though Izaya expected any different from him. Izaya wouldn't pity him, wouldn't mean any of the weak consolation he offered. There was no reason to pretend when they both knew he was a freak who'd orchestrated his own downfall.

Izaya just wanted to gloat, and that was surprisingly easy to endure. Far easier than Shinra's hesitancy and Celty's questions.

Well, assuming he _knew_…

Stupid. Of course he knew; Izaya was a master at talking a hell of a lot without actually saying anything, but what he had said was plenty. And why else would he be here? If he hadn't known at first glance last night, the world knew by now. Shizuo remembered the kid on the street flashing his cell phone at his friends. It was probably on one of those dumbass forums. Fuck, there might even be _pictures_, he hadn't thought of that. Was that why his phone was missing? Had they-?

_Oh,__fuck__…_

He dropped heavily into the mismatched chair on the other side of the coffee table to the couch. Too far to reach across and throttle Izaya for managing, somehow, to make him feel even worse.

"Look, whatever the fuck you think you know—"

Izaya smiled at him, calm and unconcerned. "I never claimed I knew anything. I never said there was anything _to_ know."

Shit.

"Whatever. The only reason you're here is because you don't want anyone else killing me before you do."

If he wasn't paying attention, he might have missed the way Izaya's eyes widened a fraction, the wry smile tugging his brows into a frown. "Ah, so unfair, Shizu-chan. How can someone with such a primitive little brain be so sharp at the worst possible time?"

"Because that's what I would've done if it'd been you passed out on the street."

Or what he would have done. Now… even if there'd been any fleeting pleasure in it, he couldn't remember why it would be so important. What the hell did he care about killing Izaya? What the hell did he care about killing anyone? Nothing gave him the right to even _think_ that way.

"Ooh, are you really admitting we have something in common, Shizu-chan?" Izaya pretended to shiver. "Sca~ry." Then as soon as it appeared, the theatrical mantle was gone, replaced by something rational and mild, that, if Shizuo didn't know better, seemed capable of holding a normal conversation. "Anyway, believe whatever you like." Izaya shrugged. "But it's true that I don't enjoy seeing you like this."

Shizuo looked away. "Right, 'cause you usually give such a shit about my wellbeing."

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

"Well you can fuck off back to Shinjuku. I'm fine."

"I see…" Izaya looked thoughtful – there was a fucking terrifying thought – and stared at his nails. When he got up, Shizuo curbed the fervent hope that the flea actually was leaving – no, the bastard wouldn't play that fair – and watched him slowly circle the coffee table and slink closer. With every step, he felt his muscles tense, spine pulling so rigid it ached.

It set off a chain reaction of pain, made him think of hands and concrete and laughter, and he must not have been paying enough attention because by the time Izaya stood at his side and reached out, Shizuo couldn't remember why he had to stop him.

Just Izaya's hand, unexpectedly warm and solid, resting next to his on the arm rest. Just Izaya's fingertips against his, and he'd backed the chair up so fast it snagged on the carpet and tilted back. Staring up at the ceiling, Shizuo heard Izaya's unsurprised, "Yes, you're _perfectly_ fine."

There was nothing he could say that would excuse that away, but since saying nothing was just as bad he managed an intelligent "Fuck you, flea." as he tried to get up.

"See, this wouldn't happen at my place. I don't have cheap furniture." Izaya crouched beside him, clearly entertained by his wholly ungraceful struggle. "You should think about it, Shizu-chan."

"No fucking way." He righted the chair with a growl, battling the urge to break it over the flea's head. "Whatever scheme you've got going—"

"Did it hurt, Shizu-chan?" Izaya was looking up at him with a sad, wry smile and the very last thing Shizuo ever expected to see him his eyes. Disappointment. A look that said whatever the flea used to see when he looked at him, whatever made the constant goddamn chasing worth the effort, was gone, and whatever hope Shizuo had that Izaya would be different sailed away with it.

"Takes a lot to hurt me, flea." He tried for a teeth-bared grin, but it felt more of a grimace. "You should know that."

"There's a way to hurt everyone, Shizu-chan. Sometimes it takes a while to work out what it is, but there's always something."

"Yeah, well, you'd know." He didn't want to have this conversation anymore. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to have to find words, didn't want to pretend he gave a shit about keeping up appearances. He wanted Izaya gone, wanted to lock the door – and shove the fucking television up against it this time – and shut everything out.

"Ah, it is good information to have at hand, I'll admit." Izaya began, getting up and rocking on his heels. "It's always—"

The flea's cell phone rang. Shizuo could have fucking _kissed _it.

"Ah, excuse me." Leaving Shizuo to gather his wits, Izaya answered the phone.

Immediately, he was looking at another person. This wasn't even the taunting, smirking bastard who spent his days goading him. His eyes were dark, narrowed slashes of garnet, lips set in a grim line. The fingers gripping the phone held on so hard the knuckles turned white.

"I see." Izaya frowned, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. "You have the names? No, that won't be necessary. Good. Once it checks out, you'll get your money in the usual way."

He clicked off the phone, shoving it in his pocket as he turned to Shizuo with a bright smile that didn't quite sit right while there were still ghosts of that severe expression in his eyes. "Well, delightful as your company may be, Shizu-chan, I have work to do."

"Yeah, that sounded totally legit."

"I couldn't care less about that." Izaya shrugged into his coat. "It's important."

It must have been. Shizuo couldn't remember ever seeing Izaya that serious before. Not that it mattered why; he was getting his way. Izaya was leaving. That was the important part he needed to focus on.

"Look…" Izaya paused at the door. "It might be true that there's always a way to hurt someone, but there are ways to fix them too. I don't indulge in that often." A half smile. "Or, well, ever. But that doesn't mean there aren't things that'll help. It doesn't mean there aren't things that can make you feel better." He reached into his wallet, drew out a business card and tucked it into the doorframe. "If you decide you want that, then… you know where I am, ne, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo waited a long while after Izaya left before he plucked that card from the frame with shaky fingers, and tore it into shreds.

Whatever Izaya had to offer wasn't anything he needed.


	5. Chapter 5

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender<span>

Chapter Five

The four photographs currently displayed on Izaya's computer screen showed nondescript thugs. The sort that, if he'd passed them in the street, he'd only have spared them a second glance to comment on their sheer lack of style and imagination.

Now, they were the four humans he loved least in the world. Or, well, they would be if they'd still been something he considered human and worthy of his time.

He'd gone back over the references to Shizuo he'd so casually dismissed earlier, reading with a new, more critical eye. His sources claimed these four miscreants were members of some unimportant little gang who'd wandered into Ikebukuro to recruit or to cause trouble, depending who you asked. It was a shame, really, that they'd gotten to Shizu-chan first and thus placed themselves on Izaya's radar in a decidedly unpleasant way, because he might have been quite interested in their plans. After all, playing with Kida Masaomi had been a lot of fun. But no, these idiots had to cause trouble in Shizuo's presence, proof if it was needed that there really weren't from around here. Or had the intelligence God gave… well, fleas.

It seemed they'd vowed some sort of overdramatic vengeance as they ran away, tails between their legs.

Or not. How they managed to snare Shizuo in the first place still bothered him, but it was a low priority concern. They'd made their mistakes, and the damage was done. Now it was just a matter of what to do about it.

If it had been him, he knew what he'd do. Of course, it wouldn't have been him; he had a sinking feeling that Shizu-chan's naïveté played a part in this mess, and, well… Izaya would never have fallen for that tactic in the first place so it was moot.

Either way, it wasn't his call to make.

He spent the rest of the evening compiling as much data on the four men as he could. By the time dawn was breaking blearily between the skyscrapers of Shinjuku, he'd called in a dozen owed favours and the data file had grown to a satisfying size. He wouldn't stop until he had _everything_: where they lived; where they shopped; the names of their mothers; their first kiss; who they sat next to in middle school. He'd uncover every detail, every weakness. Anything he could use.

_Because __I __told __you,__ Shizu-chan, __there __are __always __ways__ to __make __people __hurt._

Still, it was an odd feeling, hating some of his precious humans this much. If they'd harmed anyone else, their names and numbers would already be in his cell phone, awaiting the first opportunity he could use them in some way. He'd have taken great pleasure in unravelling the intricacies of a mindset that came up with and executed such a plan. He'd have played with them until he understood the methodology well enough that, should the need ever arise, he could implement something like it himself, and then his new toys would be discarded, useless and unnecessary.

Instead he could only focus on how much he wanted them to pay. How much he wanted them to suffer. As much as Shizu-chan was. As much as _Izaya _was. Didn't they know how much work it would take to undo the damage they'd done? Didn't they know how unsettling it felt to despise humans that, in other circumstances, would have proven useful? Didn't they know how wrong it was to hate humans for Shizu-chan? How dare they…!

He caught himself just a thought away from smashing his fist through the computer screen. Leaning back in his chair, he barked out a brittle laugh at himself and rubbed a brisk hand over his face.

"Ah, I must be more tired than I thought, ne?"

Except that he wasn't. He could make it several more hours on the adrenaline rush alone. Plenty of time to put some of the vivid thoughts circling his mind into action.

But he wouldn't. He'd wait for Shizu-chan to call first.

He looked across the desk at the silent cell phone, the one whose number he only ever gave out to the most important clients, the ones who required that extra bit of discretion.

And he would. It might not be today, it might not even be this week, but eventually, something would make Shizuo use that number.

Something would make him realize that he wanted what Izaya offered. He knew his beast far too well; Shizuo would never turn to anyone he _valued_ for this kind of help. Even with someone like the Headless Rider at his disposal who would bend over backwards to help him with _anything_, Shizuo would turn to him instead. Because it didn't matter if Izaya was tainted by it all. It didn't matter what Izaya thought of him. _Izaya_ didn't matter.

"That's not very nice, Shizu-chan." Smile turning a little frayed at the edges, Izaya spun his chair around to gaze out of the window at the lightening sky. "Maybe I should play with you a bit more before I fix you."

* * *

><p>Shizuo managed to avoid contact with the world for three days. There'd been enough phone calls for him to lose count. All he knew was that every damn time it rang the noise scraped nails across already ragged nerves. He'd have unplugged it, but that'd prove he was home.<p>

_Yeah,__ you __didn__'__t __think __that __one__ through __did __you?_

The thing he couldn't stop thinking about, though, was how many people might've called his cell. What if someone _answered_? What if it wasn't just lost or broken, but _stolen_, and every time someone he knew called, they'd be regaled with a blow-by-blow account of his biggest fuck up ever?

Shit, what if Kasuka had called? He couldn't remember the last time his brother had done so, but surely if he was going to call at all it'd be now, when Shizuo would've given anything for him not to.

Tom came to the door at least twice. There were other visits – Celty or Shinra maybe; certainly not Izaya again since those anonymous visitors didn't just break in – but Tom was the only one who'd called out for him, asked whether he was home, whether he was okay.

I'm fine, he'd thought, sitting in the dark and afraid to breathe in case the sound gave him away. I'm fine. Just leave me alone.

But there was only so long he could wish for that. His appetite was still shot to hell, but he'd still gone through the meagre groceries he had. He didn't even have fresh milk left. And sooner or later, Tom would either instruct Vorona to break down his door, or fire him. Or both. He still thought firing him was precisely what Tom _should _do, but he was selfish enough to wish he wouldn't.

Because then he'd have nothing left.

Maybe if he could at least face Tom, saw for himself his boss's reaction… well, he could take it from there. So on day four of the self-imposed exile, he cleaned up, dressed in his uniform, glad its sleeves covered the yellowing bruises, and sat to wait.

Tom came by mid-afternoon. Even if he hadn't said anything, Shizuo would have recognized the lazy rhythm of the knock at his door.

"Shizuo? Are you home?" Tom's voice didn't sound laid back at all, and Shizuo cringed. "I spoke to your landlord, he says some guy took the spare key a few days ago and hasn't come back, so now we're even more worried about you. Come on, Shizuo, if you're there open the—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

Tom looked disproportionately surprised when Shizuo yanked open the door. A little further along the landing, Vorona watched him with solemn eyes. Shizuo pushed his glasses a little higher up the bridge of his nose, stuffed his pack of cigarettes into his back pocket, and pulled the door shut behind him and he left the apartment.

It felt a little like diving off a pier into open ocean. He had to shake his head to ward off the weird sensation of just tipping over.

"Shizuo." Tom stared at him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Is… everything okay?"

"Ah, just got knocked out by some stomach bug or whatever. So, y'know, I couldn't come to the door before."

Tom blinked. "Okay. Well, I'm glad it was nothing serious. You just disappeared off the face of the earth, you wouldn't answer your door, your cell phone keeps saying it's out of service…"

"Out of…?" Oh, thank fuck for that. "Yeah, it got broken the other day. Sorry. I should've told you. I'll pick up a new one."

Vorona peered at him, expression grave. "Senpai. You are still unwell."

"Huh? Nah, I'm fine now, really."

She shook her head. "Negative. You are lacking in colour. This indicates you are still unwell."

"If you need another day or two, Shizuo," Tom began, "then—"

"I'm fine."

And it was starting to dawn on him that they didn't know. It should have filled him with relief, but all he could feel was the cold dread that they'd still find out eventually. It was only a matter of time, and now he'd compounded the sin by making up some bullshit story about being sick.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't let you know. If I let you down." He grit his teeth, hands shoved in his pockets as he strode towards the stairs. "I'll take a pay cut this month."

"That's not necessary." Tom followed him, seemingly placated. "It's been pretty quiet. We were just worried about you. You don't usually get sick."

Shizuo bit back the guilt and the bitter knowledge that he didn't deserve all their concern. "'Cause a freak like me can't catch cold or something?" He forced a laugh. "Careful, Tom-san, you're gonna start sounding like the fucking louse."

And that was the second-to-last thing he wanted to think about. The card Izaya left was in shreds in his trashcan, but he could still feel the paper tearing under his fingers. He could still feel the shock of Izaya's fingertips barely touching his own, cool and electric.

He could still remember the way Izaya's eyes looked when he answered that mysterious phone call. Shit, if the flea looked like that all the time, Shizuo might actually have to start taking their fight seriously. That Izaya didn't look like someone anyone sane would fuck around with.

Tom was right about one thing; it was pretty damn quiet. Just a couple of the dating site losers, a couple of college kids with dumbass gambling debts. It was the sort of day he should have been delighted with, the sort of day that didn't even stoke his rage out of its slumber. True, those were the days when the flea usually showed up to ruin it all, but even he was conspicuously absent.

Good. Because if he showed up now with offers and ultimatums… no, screw it. Izaya probably forgot all about it the second he walked out of the door. It was all part of whatever twisted satisfaction the damn louse got from messing with his head.

He still couldn't relax. Maybe he needed to invest in new sunglasses, ones with darker lenses that would allow him to watch the world without really making eye contact. He didn't want to acknowledge all the stares he knew were aimed his way. Just because Tom and Vorona seemed oblivious, it didn't mean the rest of the world didn't know.

"How are you doing?" Tom stopped, looking back at him. "Feeling okay? If you're tired then you can head home early, there are only a couple of small jobs left. I know those bugs can take it out of you."

"I'm fine."

"Lacking colour." Vorona shook her head, and Shizuo tried to muster a glare at his kouhai's betrayal, except his stomach chose that timely moment to growl a protest and the street swayed a little around him.

Tom sighed. "Well, at least come and grab something to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"A drink then. You do look pale, you need something to boost your energy."

They ended up at the closest fast food restaurant. Shizuo could barely stand in line, the heat and noise of the restaurant making him dizzy. He didn't like the fact he couldn't monitor his surroundings better; anyone could have been staring in from across the street, the restaurant lights made the glass too distorted with reflections to tell. There were too many eyes on him, standing still in one place. He felt like a goddamn sitting duck.

For _what_? He was in the same fast food joint they'd visited a hundred times before, the one where the girl behind the counter always blushed at him and watched a little too avidly when he poked his straw through the lid of his milkshake and took a suck. He couldn't even remember anyone having a fight in here, or dropping food-laden trays, or anything that would explain away the fact he hadn't felt this uncomfortable anywhere for a very long time.

"Eat in or take out?" Their server asked, and before Tom could even turn to ask, Shizuo growled, "Take out."

He went to wait outside after that, but the street was only a little less claustrophobic. Now and then he heard a voice in the crowd that sounded like that night, but surely it was just a trick of his senses.

The last job was some deadbeat who owed money to a loan shark.

His last known address was some dinghy apartment that looked about ready to cave in on itself. Tom looked at him with a raised brow as they approached the door.

"If we have to break down the door, don't kick too hard. Looks like we'd take down the whole building."

Shizuo didn't particularly relish the idea of kicking _anything_, but he shrugged a noncommittal answer.

Fortunately he didn't have to; the deadbeat was stinking drunk enough to answer the door to anyone, even a bunch of debt collectors.

"Whaddya want?" Unkempt and unsteady, the guy squinted at them. There was an open beer bottle in one hand, and the stub of a cigarette in the other.

Tom started on the usual spiel, but Shizuo tuned it out. Every instinct told him that anyone could take this tottering drunk, but that was exactly the mistake he'd made before. There were a million threats; he could break off that bottle, slash at them, or flick that accumulated hot ash in their faces. And who knew what lurked inside the run down apartment. Who the hell said this guy was here alone? Maybe there were a dozen others in there, just waiting to haul them in and—

"So whassa hot piece of ass like you doin' with these bastards, huh?" The drunk had evidently chosen to ignore whatever Tom was saying too, but in his case he'd decided instead to slur and slobber all over Vorona.

"Oi." Shizuo pounded a warning fist into the doorframe next to the asshole's head to get his attention. "Leave her the fuck alone."

"Oh?" The man leered in his face. "Whassa matter, prettyboy, you gonna stick up for your little girlfriend?"

"Unnecessary, sempai." Vorona looked at him.

"Yeah, you listen to the hot little bitch." The man staggered back, a smug smile on his face. "Heh, or maybe you're her bitch, huh? Well, prettyboy? You like bending over for a good ramming, huh?"

_"__You__'__re __enjoying __this, __aren__'__t __you? __Dirty_ and _a __freak, __how__ funny __is __that? __Ah, __you __were __made __for __this __shit, __you__'__re __so __fucking_ tight. _Ha, __are __we __making __your __first __time __good __for __you?__"_

One second he was staring at the drunk's smug smile. The next thing he knew, the same drunk was pinned to the wall of his crappy apartment, head snapping back hard with every punch Shizuo swung at him. Once. Twice. Three times.

"That's enough, Shizuo." It was probably because Tom's voice was so matter-of-fact, so calm, that it cut through the haze. "After all, no one'll get their money if you kill him first."

Breathing hard, he let the unconscious man drop to slump at the floor. Tom knelt down to check, rather gingerly, that Shizuo _hadn__'__t _actually managed to kill him. Shizuo turned away, strode further along the landing. If he gripped the flimsy railing now, the entire fucking thing would break off, so he reached for a cigarette instead. But his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't get one out of the packet. He couldn't even hold the damn box; it tumbled from his fingers and skittered off across the damp landing.

"Shit…"

He leaned down to pick it up, but something about the way the streetlights hit the concrete, the way the twilight brought a cool breeze that smelled of gasoline and garbage, froze him in place. It all but froze the air in his lungs. It felt like he was inhaling over glass and sandpaper.

_Run,_ his instincts said. _This__ isn__'__t __safe. __It__'__s __like __back __then. __Just _run.

"Senpai?"

Vorona didn't even touch him. There was just a small tug on his shirtsleeve, something that under ordinary circumstances would barely have snagged his attention.

But in his head, he still felt _other_ hands tugging at his clothes, felt seams tear and fabric rip. Felt concrete, and the cold, and pain as surely as if he was back there again, shoved to his knees on a dirty floor and—

"Don't!"

He'd wanted to move like this then. He'd wished so hard that the body he'd cursed a million times over would just listen to him this once and channel that rage at his enemies, teeth bared in a snarl, fists flying.

At least Vorona was quick enough to dodge. It must have been sheer surprise making her sluggish that let the punch just clip her cheek. She stumbled back against a horrified Tom.

"Shizuo!"

"I'm sorry. I… I'm sorry." He backed up, away from them. Away from the people who'd least deserved the fallout, but since it was him and he couldn't control himself, they suffered anyway. "I'm sorry."

"Senpai…" Vorona didn't look angry, didn't look shocked. She just looked worried, and that made him feel a million times worse. He didn't deserve their concern, couldn't they see that? He was a freak. A monster. A total fucking screw up who couldn't even cope with shit he'd brought on himself.

It wasn't even that he'd hit a girl, fucking unacceptable as that was. He'd thrown a punch at a friend. He'd lashed out at someone important to him, someone who still saw fit for some crazy reason to look at him as if he hadn't just crossed that line.

"Senpai. I am fine. But you—"

"Don't. Just…" He shook his head, took another step back. "Just don't."

"Shizuo." Tom began. "Something's obviously going on with you. We just want to help. You're my friend, if there's something I can do then—"

"You wanna do something for me?" His fists clenched so tightly, his nails dug into his palms. "Then just stay the fuck away from me."

"But Shizuo—"

He turned to walk away, trying desperately not to break into a run, and equally hard not to look back. He didn't want to see the way they looked at him. "I quit, okay? So you don't need to check up on me anymore."

Tom was still calling his name, but Shizuo forced himself not to listen. There was no way he could stay, not now.

He couldn't remember getting home, just that he knew what he had to do when he got there.

_Fix__ this. __I __don__'__t __care __how, __just __fix __this __before __I __hurt __more __people._

He turned on all the lights in his apartment this time, just in case something lurked in the shadows. As if anything could be more of a monster than him. He grabbed the phone handset as he headed straight to the kitchen. Straight to the trash can.

Still breathing hard, he dug through it, losing patience halfway through and dumping the entire contents on the kitchen floor. Amongst the junk mail, the food wrappers, he scrambled to assemble the shreds of high quality card stock into something recognizable.

His fingers were shaking as they punched the number. Leaning back against the refrigerator door, he squeezed his eyes shut to try and keep the hot, stinging at bay.

He had no idea what to say. No idea what to ask for.

It turned out, he didn't have to do either.

"Ah, Shizu-chan." Izaya answered before the third ring. "I've been waiting for your call."


	6. Chapter 6

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.**_

_In terms of how these chapters correlate with the kinkmeme: one kinkmeme update (however many posts) = one chapter. So this one - Chapter Six - covered parts 21 - 26 on the meme. If it's easier for you, the chapters here match the chapters on my fic LJ (which also list the corresponding parts on the meme - I can do that here too if it's helpful?).  
><em>

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Six

Silence.

Izaya frowned at his cell phone, pulling it away from his ear and giving it a little shake. The screen still showed the call was connected. Sighing softly, he leaned back in his chair and waited.

_I'll give you whatever you need, Shizu-chan, but you're going to have to ask for it first. _

The only sound coming from the other end of the line was a cracking sound that may or may not have been Shizuo's phone begging for mercy as it was crushed to powder, and shaky, shuddering breaths. He closed his eyes, picturing Shizuo trying to compose himself, trying to reconcile what he wanted with who he was asking it _of._

"I…" A harsh breath crackled in his ear, sounding more resolute than the voice. "You said you could do something."

"I did." Izaya agreed, spinning his chair idly.

There was more of that cracking noise when Shizuo evidently figured out Izaya had no intention of making this easy. Maybe he should – it would be a shame if Shizuo quit now and hung up.

"Did you mean it?" Shizuo began speaking again before Izaya had the chance to.

"Of course, Shizu-chan. You know, I don't offer my services gratis very often, you should be honoured."

Shizuo didn't sound particularly honoured. Likely he was annoyed that he had no idea what 'gratis' meant. "I just… whatever you can do, do it." And then, quietly, as though the blond had tilted the phone away from his mouth, "I've had fucking _enough _of this…"

"Well then, I'm glad you called. Where are you?"

"Huh? At home, why?"

_Oh, Shizu-chan, it's a miracle no one took advantage of you before now. _

"Because I'm coming over." How he kept his voice as patient as he did was a miracle too. Shrugging into his jacket, he kept the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. "The sooner this is fixed the better, ne?"

Shizuo didn't answer for a long moment, long enough to make Izaya check the connection again.

"Yeah." That voice was a little shaky again when it finally came.

It was a good way to end the call, with Shizu-chan's neediness still ricocheting around his head.

He considered taking the train, but if he was bringing Shizuo back with him that that would hardly be practical. He couldn't spend the entire journey back to Shinjuku breaking up fights between Shizu-chan and whatever hapless commuter accidentally brushed against him. Besides, it was late and Shizuo might need a little convincing. A taxi was better.

Outside Shizuo's apartment building, he thrust a wad of notes at the taxi driver. "Wait there and I'll pay you double when I get back." An image flitted across his mind, of the cab winding up hanging upside down from a streetlamp if Shizuo lost his temper at Izaya's suggestion. "No, three times. And I'll reimburse you any damages."

"Damages?" The taxi driver blinked, but Izaya was already skipping his way into the building. Hopefully he wouldn't run into Shizuo's landlord; there were probably several tenancy laws he'd flaunted by keeping Shizuo's spare key.

"Shi~zu-chan!" He tapped a musical rhythm on the door, matched it with a singsong voice. He could let himself in, but doing so unannounced didn't seem wise, given Shizuo's mood.

But the door wasn't even locked this time. Izaya opened it, peering around the frame. There were still traces of broken plaster along the hall, and the entire apartment glowed with light like there'd been a powersurge.

Ah, maybe there _had _been.

Imagining the harm innocuous household objects could do when they were hurled at him with force, he called out "I'm coming in!" and slammed the door shut behind him.

Shizuo sat on his couch, head bowed, hands hanging limply between his knees. He didn't look up as Izaya stepped closer.

This miserable creature wasn't the beast he'd so carefully nurtured. A surge of something unnameable raced through his veins at the sight, strong enough to make him wish he could ditch the plan right now in favour of hunting down the vermin responsible. No one had the right to turn his volatile, passionate Shizu-chan into this. No one. Shizuo without that fire – a Shizuo desperate enough to call him for help, even if it was precisely what Izaya wanted – was an unnatural thing, a wild animal stripped of its most fundamental essence.

Shizuo's hands curled into fists, and just beneath a messy fall of bleached hair a muscle twitched in his jaw.

"What can you do?"

_More than you can imagine, Shizu-chan._

"Well, for a start get you out of here. Out of this horrible apartment and out of Ikebukuro." When Shizuo looked up at him, ready to protest, Izaya raised a brow. "Oh, so staying here is helping you?"

"Not particularly." Shizuo looked away.

"Then you're coming with me. Are you going to need to bring anything besides a change of clothes?"

Shizuo looked around his apartment as though he was seeing it for the first time. As though it belonged to someone else, someone he didn't recognize.

"No."

Well, that was easier than he'd expected. Step one, accomplished with flying colours. "Then let's go. You'll feel better just walking down a less familiar street."

He waited while Shizuo gathered what he needed. Fortunately, he was still dealing with the man whose social skills were on a par with amoebas, so it didn't take long. He doubted Shizuo even folded his precious uniforms very carefully, not judging by the size of the small holdall he carried with him.

"Ready?" he asked, when Shizuo looked far from it.

"Yeah." The grip on the bag tightened. "I just want to get out of here."

Shizuo was remarkably well behaved in the taxi. Silent, tense, only answering Izaya's random observations of the changing street scene outside the window with grunts, but still… nothing broke. Izaya almost regretted the deal he'd made with the taxi driver, but then again, better safe than sorry. This was an aberrance, that was all; on any other given day, the cab would be airborne by now, halfway to Minato. The driver would never know how close he came.

At least, he kept telling himself that. The man that followed him, quiet and unnervingly docile, up to his apartment wouldn't have seemed threatening to a four-year-old girl. Damn it, he was about as intimidating _as _a four-year-old girl.

_But that's why you're here. That's why we're fixing this. _

He gave Shizuo a cursory tour of the spacious apartment, noticing that the spare bedroom was about the size of Shizuo's entire home. Ah, maybe he'd made a mistake introducing the beast to the concept of luxury. Maybe Shizuo would never want to leave.

Izaya shook off the odd feeling that settled over him with that thought. He'd deal with that whenever it happened. Surely it wouldn't be hard to arrange an eviction if the blond made himself too much at home.

Speaking of which…

He was halfway through explaining where everything was in his kitchen when a faint click and soft whoosh sounded behind him. Izaya turned around just in time to watch Shizuo raise the lighter toward the tip of the cigarette perched between his lips.

"Oh, no you don't." Izaya leaned closer, blowing out the lighter before it could light the cigarette.

"The fuck?" Shizuo scowled. "In case you hadn't noticed, flea, I smoke. Kinda have done for a while. If you think I'm gonna quit just 'cause I'm in your fancy apartment, then—"

"You should quit." Izaya made a face. "Those things are disgusting. But if you have to indulge your filthy habit then you'll do it outside."

Shizuo stared at him. Stared out of the window. "You want me to go all the way down to the street?"

In his head, Izaya counted to ten. Backwards. In English.

"Well, the roof is closer, ne? Come on, I'll show you. That way, you won't be tempted to go against my house rules when you're here alone."

Shizuo arched a brow, following him back out of the apartment. "House rules?"

"I don't have many." Izaya counted them off on his fingers while they waited for the elevator. It wouldn't take them all the way to the roof, but he figured even Shizuo's smoke-infested lungs could cope with a couple of flights of stairs without giving out. How a man this unhealthy kept up with him, he had no idea. Hmm. Maybe ootoro slowed him down more than he thought… "Don't smoke. Don't break anything you don't intend to pay for. Stay out of my personal affairs."

"I have no interest in your 'personal affairs', flea."

Izaya pretended to pout. "So unfriendly, Shizu-chan."

"Yeah?" Shizuo wouldn't quite look at him when the elevator reached the top floor. "That's probably because we're not friends, don't you think?"

"In that case, you're a horribly unsociable client."

"Is that what I am?"

Izaya needed those couple of flights of stairs just to work out how to answer that one, grateful Shizuo couldn't see the frown on his face. He was glad for the cool rush of air when they finally made it out onto the roof.

"Well, I am working for you right now, aren't I?"

"Hmm." Shizuo's answer, such as it was, sounded noncommittal. "Hope you're not expecting to get paid. You ought to know I don't have any money."

"Yes, Shizu-chan. I'm well aware you can't pay me with money."

The click and whoosh of the lighter sounded louder out here, echoing against the concrete and the railings. Shizuo made a low, contented sound at the first lungful of pollution, and Izaya pretended he hadn't heard. Instead, he held onto the railing, leaned back, pretending he was on the bow of some great ocean liner, or the balcony of a mighty palace, a god watching all he surveyed. All those lights, all those lives spread out before him were his. His precious humans, living their precious, predictable little human existences.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Shizuo glance at him, shake his head. The railing shook a little when the blond leaned against it. Probably on purpose, even though there was no way a protozoan knew what Izaya had been thinking, or the glee he derived from it.

_Stop ruining my fun, Shizu-chan. _

"So… when're you gonna get 'round to asking stupid questions?"

"Hmm. Maybe never. The details aren't important to me." Izaya shrugged. "And would it really help you to rehash it all now?"

"No." The answer was too quick, too emphatic.

"Well, then."

"I just… How did you even…?"

"Ah, I have my ways, Shizu-chan. You know that."

"Maybe. Guess it wasn't too hard, anyway…"

Interesting. So, Shizuo believed the world knew all about his exploits. If he only knew how difficult it had been for Izaya to find any leads whatsoever…

Whatever Shizuo dreaded – that there were glorious Technicolor videos making the rounds on the internet, or that everyone in Ikebukuro had full-frontal photos emailed to their cells – Izaya's deduction had been tenuous at best. Even that was more a case of linking the circumstantial evidence rather than facts. If he was working for someone else, he would never have put such stock in his own gut instinct, would never have made these connections with nothing to back it up except his own feelings. He had snitches, surveillance cameras and Shinra's suspicions all confirming his own.

And he had Shizuo. He had those injuries, that reaction, that _fear. _

He could make Shizuo feel a lot better if he shared that information. But then Shizuo wouldn't need him anymore.

No. If Shizu-chan knew all that, it would change the entire playing field and it was much too soon in the game for that. He didn't want to give any of them forewarning of what was coming to them, and surely Shizuo would stomp all over it in all his inelegant glory and wreck it all. It was safer to keep Shizuo in the dark.

"I am curious, though—" _Yeah, right_ "—what made you decide to call?"

Shizuo let go of the railing, turning around to blow out a cloud of smoke against the night sky, while Izaya pondered the fact that he was on top of a high building with Shizu-chan and entertained no thoughts about pushing him off. Strange. But this wasn't about his mental health, or lack thereof. He'd found a better game to play for now, that was all, and ridding himself of the beast before that game could play out just added insult to injury.

"Because you _know_. And because I don't give a shit if I hurt you."

"Ah, so mean, Shizu-chan!" He swayed back and forth, hands in his pockets, coat swirling, and filed away that new fragment of information. Filed away the way Shizuo's voice dropped when he said the word 'hurt', as though he couldn't even bring him mouth to shape the syllable. "And here I was thinking you'd realised I only have your very best interests at heart."

"The only interest you have at heart is Izaya Orihara. Why are you even _doing _this?" Shizuo sent him a sidelong look, caramel eyes narrowed sceptically. "What's in it for you?"

"Well, you're not exactly worth killing as you are, ne?"

Shizuo surprised him with a soft laugh. "Yeah, that makes sense."

Izaya returned his attention to the sprawl of humanity stretching out in front of him, bright and vibrant, even if the smile that curved his lips had nothing to do with his humans.

"So, someone got hurt, hmm?"

Shizuo said nothing, but he didn't have to. His shoulders were so tense they were trembling beneath the white shirt, and the one-handed grip he had on the railings made them creak. Izaya sighed.

"Ah, I try to keep a low profile here, Shizu-chan. If you start breaking my building, we're going to have issues. House rules, remember?" Without thinking, he'd begun to reach out a hand to stop Shizuo grinding the railing to dust, his palm hovering just a breath above the blond's white-tight knuckles.

And maybe he was asking for trouble – asking to be batted off the roof like a home run baseball – but even after thinking about it, he did it anyway. He wanted to see what Shizuo would do this time.

The rail tore free with a groan of metal and a rush of displaced air. Izaya had no idea what compelled him to move as fast as he did, whether it was the parkour, the survival instinct, or the prediction that this'd be exactly what Shizuo did.

_Now you're becoming predictable, too, Shizu-chan? Oh, no, this isn't working for me at all. _

Reflex had him reaching for the flick blade, brandishing it out in front of him. Shizuo stopped with the point of the blade just whispering against his chest. Izaya's eyes narrowed.

"So, a little thing like this is enough to stop you now?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Izaya leaned a little nearer, feeling the tip of the knife nick Shizuo's shirt. "Make me."

He knew Shizuo wouldn't, _couldn't_, but an unpleasant discomfiting sensation still tightened in his chest when Shizuo just stepped back, out of reach.

Gave up.

He shut the blade, watching Shizuo take an urgent drag on the cigarette. The smoke escaped his lips in ragged breaths, curled away by the night breeze that ruffled his hair, billowed his shirt. Aside from that, nothing moved. Storeys below, the Shinjuku street went on without them, but the sound of cars and crowds sounded oddly distant. He'd always enjoyed looking down on the world, but tonight his lofty perch didn't feel as satisfying as usual.

Maybe it was just the terrible company.

He hated the discontent that gnawed at him just by watching Shizuo. Out of pure self interest – and even a simple creature like Shizu-chan was smart enough to recognize that fact – he needed to fix this as soon as possible. Once everything was back to normal, he could shake the unease that left him so rattled.

And yet…

It was a golden opportunity. A Shizuo this broken would surely agree to anything if only he could stop feeling this way. Wasn't that what they both wanted, after all? He'd want the reparation Izaya offered now, when he had nothing else left to cling to. If Izaya let this slide, hesitated, gave Shizuo a chance to recover it would be so much harder to make him see that there was only one card on this table, only one move to this game.

So why couldn't he push? Just like he couldn't see a way to pushing Shizuo off the building – made so much easier now by Shizu-chan's blatant disregard for property damage – he couldn't see a way to push Shizuo into that corner from which only the things Izaya offered provided escape.

He tilted his head up, watched the red lights of a plane flicker against the orange-tinted clouds as it headed south-east to Haneda, and smiled wryly to himself.

_Ah, I suppose I just want to play with him a little first. After all, it's not every day an opportunity like this just falls at my feet. Literally. _

That made sense. The simplest explanations being the most likely, and all – he'd try to explain Occam's razor to Shizuo, but all he'd likely get for his trouble would be a glare and "Are you telling me I need a shave, flea?" – and now he'd subdued the initial fury it was tempting to see what else this situation would bring. Revenge was one thing – revenge was _easy _– but what he held in his hands now, wounded and wary, was something far more interesting.

He could make Shizuo need him. He could make himself the centre of his beast's universe in a way their war never had. He'd make Shizuo depend on him, believe in him to take care of everything, and if he did that right then Shizuo would concede to his plans by default.

And, he smiled a little again as he glanced back at Shizuo who seemed a little more relaxed after vacuuming up all that nicotine, wouldn't it be so much sweeter when Shizuo finally realised the point of this whole exercise?

When he looked back down at the street, he thought maybe the lights gleamed a little brighter, the sounds carried a little louder.

It had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the company.

"Come on," he said, inclining his head back towards the door. "It's getting cold."

* * *

><p>There was still something pretty fucked up about following Izaya into his apartment. Something fucked up about following Izaya anywhere, because it was hardly likely the damn flea was heading anywhere good. Still, there he was, like an obedient puppy trailing after its master.<p>

Resisting the urge to smash a fist into the pristine walls, Shizuo kicked that image out of his head. Hadn't Izaya said it himself? The flea was working for him, not the other way around. Even if it was the last arrangement he'd ever expected to find himself making… well, there'd been a lot of things he'd never imagined he'd do before. If there was a way to go back to that normalcy, Shizuo was past giving a shit that he had to turn to Izaya for it.

Izaya didn't care. Izaya didn't matter. Izaya couldn't possibly think less of him than he already did. This was the best possible place to be, given the circumstances.

The fucking irritating part was that he did feel a little better in less familiar surroundings. There was nothing in Izaya's too-big, too-_much_ apartment to remind him of his mistake.

Well, if you didn't count Izaya himself. But then Izaya was a walking mistake, surely no one expected Shizuo to take full responsibility for that.

Izaya headed for the kitchen when they got back. Shizuo hovered in the vast space between the living room and the counter that delineated it from the kitchen like he was some new, ugly floor lamp Izaya had bought home on a whim.

"Do you want some tea?"

It was late, and he was jittery enough just being here. Caffeine on top of that and he'd be bouncing off the fricking walls.

"No. Thanks," he amended when Izaya looked up at him with a pointed expression that made him feel about three inches tall. "Uh, do you have… I mean, if it's not any trouble, then—"

While he'd been mumbling, Izaya had opened a refrigerator that was bigger than Shizuo's bathroom, and set down a carton of milk and a tall glass on the counter in front of him.

"No trouble at all, Shizu-chan."

_Goddamn flea. _

"Thanks…"

Izaya watched him, head tilted, eyes glittering with amusement. "You really are just a big kid, aren't you?"

"So?" Shizuo took a long swig of the ice-cold milk, licking away the droplets that clung to his upper lip. "Maybe if you'd drunk more milk you wouldn't be such a skinny little shit."

Izaya licked his own lips, like the very thought tempted him. "True. But then I might have turned into a monster like Shizu-chan, and that'd be horrible."

"Yeah, but then you could kick your own ass."

"Hmm, the efficiency _does _kind of appeal to me…"

There was probably something very wrong with sitting in the flea's kitchen, drinking milk, and conducting a conversation that was semi-civil, but Shizuo was too weary to give a crap. Maybe here, in that oversized bed he'd glimpsed when Izaya showed him to what he laughingly called a spare room – spare fucking aircraft hangar by the looks of it – he could actually sleep.

He levered himself away from the counter, ran a hand through his hair.

"Can I, uh… take a shower?"

"Of course, Shizu-chan. Make yourself at home. If you're going to be asking for everything while you're here, we won't have much time for anything else."

There was an edge to that 'anything else' that immediately raised Shizuo's hackles. The rage inside him knew a threat when it heard one, even when it was wrapped up in something that sounded like a sweet promise.

"What do you mean?"

Izaya spent an inordinately long amount of time making sure his tea was just right, and Shizuo knew he was right to dread the silence when it ended with, "You lash out when you're touched, don't you?"

Shizuo closed his eyes, but the movie played out in his head anyway; Shinra's wide eyed stare, the way he'd rubbed at the throat Shizuo had been inches from crushing; Vorona stumbling back against Tom, their looks of horror and bewilderment; Izaya, smiling sadly at him with disappointment in his eyes.

Unfortunately, Izaya didn't seem to need an answer. Instead, he nodded decisively to himself.

"Well then, that's where we'll start. You can practice on me until you're more comfortable with touching."

Okay. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but if there was something in Izaya's casual, confident statement that didn't sound crazy and downright screwed-up, Shizuo couldn't find it.

"…What?"

"Look at it this way, you can't kill me if you can't lay your hands on me, can you?"

"I don't need to touch you to land a fricking vending machine on you."

"But it's hardly as though touching me matters you you, right?" Izaya looked at him through coyly lowered lashes. "Unless Shizu-chan's been harbouring all kinds of perverted thoughts about me all this time."

"That's… disgusting." And disturbing, in a way he couldn't pinpoint. Scary in and of itself; he figured he'd been up close and personal with all known levels of disturbing lately.

"So you see, it makes perfect sense."

Maybe. In Izayaland.

"You said it yourself, ne?" Izaya went on. "You don't care if you lash out at me. Wouldn't you rather work on this with someone like me, rather than someone you…" The flea frowned a little, shook his head slightly. "Someone you'd feel guilty for hurting?"

He tried to imagine how he'd feel if it was Izaya he'd pinned to the wall by the throat, if it was Izaya he'd thrown a punch at just for tugging his sleeve.

It'd take more than that to scare this bastard off, that was for sure. And if he really did go too far, Izaya wouldn't hesitate in slicing him up with his flick blade; Shizuo had a feeling that everyone else he knew would actually think they had to hold back.

Izaya wouldn't. Izaya never had.

"Don't blame me if you wind up dead," he forced himself to shrug as if he didn't care either way. As if he could handle it. "Remember it was your stupid idea."

"I'll remember. Oh, and Shizu-chan?"

Halfway towards the bathroom – at least he thought that door was the bathroom; the flea had too many damn doors to remember – he stopped, half looking over his shoulder. Izaya smiled at him over the rim of a ridiculously delicate looking tea cup.

"You don't have to worry. I've covered up the mirrors."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (parts 27 - 32)  
><strong>_

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.**_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Seven

Shizuo was so used to his tiny apartment, tucked down among the shadows of taller buildings, that the sheer amount of light streaming into the bedroom the next morning hurt his eyes. At least cursing the sunshine tempered the sheer panic at waking up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room.

Because _last_ time he woke up not knowing where he was…

Ever since then, he'd taken to sleeping fully dressed, only ever undressing for record-breaking quick showers. He had no idea what he expected – why the hell would they just walk away and leave him there if they planned on breaking into his apartment to pick up where they left off? And fuck, being dressed hadn't exactly helped in the first place. It wasn't like he walked around flashing a whole lot of skin.

_No… they came after you because of what you are, no other reason. _

He sat up, scrubbing his hands across his face. Usually he reached out for his cigarettes and his lighter, but the only thing on the stylish nightstand was a lamp and a clock. He was mildly surprised to see it was after nine. No damn wonder the sun woke him. Still, it was pretty impressive that he'd been able to sleep so soundly with the flea – presumably, unless he really was a blood sucking demon and slept in a coffin in the basement or something – just a few feet away.

Shizuo smiled grimly to himself as he got out of bed, stretching hard enough to make his joints creak; maybe it was just the knowledge that if someone did break in, they'd have to deal with Izaya first.

That'd be enough to put anyone off.

The apartment sounded quiet. He wandered out into the living room, squinting again at the way the sunlight glinted off everything Izaya owned. There was nothing soft here, nothing worn and comfortable. Everything had angles, had a shiny veneer. Hell, it didn't even look lived in for the most part.

There was a note on the kitchen counter. He picked it up, scowling at how neat and orderly Izaya's handwriting was.

_Something came up for work. I'll be back later. Help  
>yourself to whatever you want in the meantime. I've left<br>you a spare key, so when you do have to indulge that nasty  
>habit of yours, you won't end up locking yourself out.<br>Try not to break anything.  
>~ Izaya.<em>

Shizuo screwed up the paper into a tight little ball. Who the fuck was the crown prince of nasty habits doing preaching to him about his cigarettes? Asshole. He was about to pitch the ball of paper at the window, but the damn thing would probably smash to pieces and he'd have to suffer through Izaya coming home to a busted apartment, shaking his head and saying something patronizing like "I _asked_ you not to break anything, Shizu-chan."

_And yet, you're still here._

Slumping back against the counter, Shizuo closed his eyes.

He had no idea what Izaya was getting out of this. There had to be something; as much sense as "you're not worth killing" made, it was still too generous for the flea. If he knew anything, it was that Izaya only gave a shit about things he stood to benefit from, somehow. When Izaya spent the past few years making his life hell, Shizuo couldn't see what he gained from this. Wasn't it more like Izaya to stand back and watch the damage take its toll?

_If he wants me gone, wouldn't it just be easier to finish the job they'd started? _

He watched the way the sun cast shadows across Izaya's floor, and smiled grimly to himself. It wasn't as though he was innocent here; he was using Izaya just as much. The only difference was that Izaya could probably see right though him, while Shizuo could only guess at Izaya's motives.

_His motives? They're not good, what more do I need to know?_

All the more reason to make sure he kept the balance of control here. As soon as he could deal with this, as soon as he was strong enough to quash down that irrational surge of panic, as soon as he could block out those memories, he'd be out of here.

The hours slid away. He'd been flicking absently through all the channels on Izaya's high-definition TV – of course the asshole had all the expensive channels Shizuo didn't – unable to settle on anything, when he heard the door open and the singsong voice that drew his brows down in a conditioned response scowl.

"I'm home, Shizu-chan. Did you miss me?"

"Who the fuck would?" he muttered, casting a quick glance around in case he'd left the milk out, or done something else to Izaya's apartment the flea wouldn't like.

"Ah, well there is that…" Izaya paused in the centre of the room, looking around. Apparently deciding everything was to his satisfaction, he nodded, smiled. "So, it looks like you are housebroken after all. After seeing the mess you lived in, I wasn't sure."

"Fuck off."

"I live here. Oh, is that Kasuka-kun's new movie?"

Shizuo glanced back at the TV, and the flashy movie trailer playing. He turned it off before the camera could focus on his brother's face.

"I guess."

Izaya dropped onto the couch next to him, casually tossing a cell phone onto the coffee table. Tucking one knee under him, he half-turned to Shizuo. "So, let's make a start on this."

"Now?"

"Why not?" Izaya tilted his head. "I don't think you want to be here any longer than necessary, do you?"

Did the fucking louse have hidden, mind-reading cameras in here or something? Shizuo wouldn't put it past him.

"What do you…?" Steeling himself, he stifled the growl at the screwed-up things he was saying. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing." Izaya shifted a little closer. "Just sit there, and," he patted the empty space between them, "put your hand here."

Shizuo tried relaxing his shoulders as he did as he was told, but the tension still simmered under the surface. A muscle in the side of his neck kept twitching. Looking at his hand - the trepidation of not _knowing_– made the trembling worse, so he turned his head, gaze fixed on the sky outside Izaya's window.

"No, don't look away." Izaya shook his head. "Or I'll startle you and I'm sure that'll end up with a punch to the face, so it's in both our interest if you watch."

Fuck it, he didn't _want_ to watch. He didn't want to be here, doing this. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Hmm?" Izaya looked up at him through dark lashes. "If it makes you feel better, I was almost joking about the punch in the face. I take full responsibility if that happens."

There was something so tempting in that, it hurt. Someone else to blame when it was all his fault. If he could do that, it'd have to feel better, right? Gaze locked on his hand, because he sure as hell didn't want to look at Izaya's expression, he nodded.

"Do it."

Izaya's chuckle was a soft purr. "You sound like I'm going to do something horrible to you, Shizu-chan."

"Aren't you?"

He thought he heard Izaya sigh. What the fuck did the flea have to sigh about? Shizuo was the one whose spine ached from tension, whose heart was racing in his throat, fluttering like some caged bird. He was the one who just wanted to run until his body gave out on him.

"Just this." Izaya held up one index finger. "Okay? So you know I can't grab you, and you can just brush it off if you don't like it."

Shizuo already didn't like it. "Can you just fucking do it and stop _talking_ about it?"

But the silence that descended after Izaya shrugged in response didn't feel much better. Now he could hear their breathing, hear the way Izaya's shirt shifted against skin as he leaned forward, that single digit brushing against Shizuo's knuckles.

He couldn't stop his hand clenching into a fist, and the sheer effort of keeping still made his muscles tremble. Even in the air-conditioned cool of the room, he felt a drop of sweat snaking its way down his back, making him shiver. It turned out that watching _was_a good idea, because otherwise he'd never have believed that the soft, electric touch wasn't leaving sparks and scorch marks in its wake.

Izaya's finger just paused on the back of his hand, and tapped lightly. Shizuo forced himself to breathe, compelled his fingers to unfurl flat against the cushion. From the corner of his eye, he saw the flea smile. Clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, Shizuo squashed down the urge to smack that smile halfway across the city.

_I'm only using him to get the fuck over this, that's all._

Cheerfully ignoring him, Izaya began to slide his fingertip from the middle of Shizuo's hand to the tips of his fingers, then back again.

Compared to his own, Izaya's hands looked delicate and unblemished. Stood to reason, Shizuo supposed; Izaya didn't tend to get his own hands dirty. The fingertip skimming the back of his hand was warm, smooth, _gentle_, nothing like—

—_cold, forceful fingers bite into his jaw, into his hips. A clammy palm strokes him, careless and rough. A grip on his hair yanks his head back hard, and his vision's swimming as he blinks, trying to focus. He can't breathe. He can't move. He's cold, and they're laughing and grunting and saying something his mind can't process, and—_

He noticed Izaya watching him patiently long before he realized he'd snatched his hand away, cradling it to his chest like it was broken. He ran the other hand through his hair, blew out a breath. If that was as far as he could get, then this was going to take too damn long.

_It's just the flea. Nothing's gonna happen. You're in control of this._

"Sorry."

He could feel the vibration thrumming in his hand as he rested it back down on the couch. Izaya said nothing, just resumed the same slow, spidery pattern against his skin, still warm, still gentle. He ran his fingertip around the edge of Shizuo's hand, the way kids did when they traced an outline on paper.

"What were you thinking?"

"Nothing," he lied.

"_Someone get his hands, for fuck's sakes… he's drugged, not dead. I don't want those goddamn hands anywhere near me. Yeah, that's it, tie him up. Who the fuck cares if it's too tight? He ain't gonna need them for a while."_

Izaya was lightly etching patterns and lines on the back of his hand, too practised and confident to be random. Shizuo tried to concentrate on the present, tried to decipher what the flea was writing.

"Ah, it doesn't matter." Izaya drew the last line of the characters that made up his name. "Right now, you're thinking about me, ne?"

"Like hell I am."

As though he saw straight through the lie, Izaya hummed a little laugh. He still didn't look up as he returned his attention to Shizuo's knuckles, touch dipping between the bones, down between Shizuo's spread fingers. He couldn't remember anyone else ever touching him there before. Why would anyone? It was… weird. And considering the abuse his hands had taken over the years, the sheer surprise at the way that small patch of skin could feel so sensitive made him forget, for a split second, why Izaya was touching him at all.

"_Heh, you're really feelin' it aren't you? Who'd have thought you'd be such a dirty little slut?"_

He tensed, fingers drawing closer together. Izaya made a soft sound that might've been disappointment, but was definitely "I noticed that", and went back to drawing figures of eight around Shizuo's knuckles in long lazy loops. They swept closer to the bones of his wrist, shushed against the almost-faded bruises, and the spell broke. Izaya's hand might have too, as hard as Shizuo grabbed it in an effort to just make him _stop_, but Izaya wasn't fighting, hadn't so much as flinched. The flea just watched him with calm, assessing eyes, though the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed the fact he'd been caught off guard by Shizuo's reaction.

"Hmm. You lasted longer than I thought you would."

Shizuo released his grip. He was breathing so hard he could have believed he'd just been chasing the flea out of Ikebukuro instead of sitting on a couch.

"That's decent progress." Izaya stood, a little too fast to be casual, as if he couldn't stand being that close to him anymore. Like he'd been able to see all those images tumbling through Shizuo's head and the thought of being near something like that propelled him away. "Enough for one day, don't you think? We should take this slow."

Enough for one day? It was enough for one fucking lifetime.

"What do you want for dinner?" Izaya asked, somehow on the other side of the room already, firing up his laptop. "I think we should order in. As picky as you are, I should probably go for something bland, hmm?"

From the way Izaya's fingers were already tapping away at the keyboard, Shizuo didn't think he was expecting an answer.

Instead he stood from the couch, ignoring how shaky he felt. "I'm going for a smoke."

He didn't wait to hear whatever disparaging comment Izaya had to say to that. Neither did he trust himself to wait for the elevator without punching a hole in the wall where the call button used to be. The stairs burned off some of the adrenaline in his blood, but his heart was still pounding when he got to the roof.

Sitting back against an unbroken section of railing, he closed his eyes and tried to listen to the sound of the city to drown out his pulse.

Fuck. He should never have agreed to this stupid damn idea. It was crazy, it was ridiculous, it was…

…it was wearing off a little, now that his mind was racing, but for a split second, it wasn't the ghost touch of cold, rough hands he felt, but something gentler, warmer.

"Fuck…!"

All he had to throw was his lighter. It smacked into the concrete hard enough to throw up a little cloud of dust and liquid. One hand covering his face, he willed his breathing to slow.

It was okay. Everything was okay. At least he hadn't thrown Izaya out of his high-rise window into the building across the street. He couldn't quite believe that the day had come when that was a _good_ thing, but if it meant the flea's fucked up idea might work…

_And that's what you want. That's why you're putting up with his crap._

The stream of smoke he blew up at a sky turning gold at the edges was steadier than before.

It might work. Then he could go back to work, think up some excuse for acting like a shit, and he could go back to pretending none of this ever happened. He could walk Ikebukuro's streets again, without having to look over his shoulder. He could meet those stares and whispers with the old familiar rage that'd make the bastards scatter from his sight.

He could go back to pretending he wasn't the _real_ monster.

And all he needed to do was brace himself for whatever Izaya decided to inflict on him next.

* * *

><p>However, over the next couple of days, Izaya never did any more than that. Just one finger exploring one hand, never venturing further than Shizuo's wrist. By the third day, the bruises were gone, but Izaya's touch still moved as though they were there, as though they were a barrier Shizuo didn't want crossed.<p>

And he _didn't_. He didn't. He just hated knowing without a doubt that Izaya had something worse planned for him. The longer this unsettling, undemanding status quo held, the more his unease grew. Of course, letting Izaya see that was as good as handing the flea a victory on a golden platter, so Shizuo grit his teeth and let him get on with it. Maybe pitting his hair-trigger patience against Izaya's was a little like trying to excavate Mount Fuji with a toothpick, but hell… If Izaya knew the anticipation was driving him crazy, it'd never end.

It didn't help that, sometimes, he caught his mind pleasantly empty while Izaya touched him. It wouldn't last. Invariably, as soon as he noticed he wasn't thinking about it, everything would cave back in on him. But for those few blissful seconds…

Izaya always found something vitally important to do afterwards. If that was supposed to be for his benefit, Shizuo couldn't figure out how. Maybe Izaya just valued his precious apartment too much to strike up a conversation on a subject that would end with something breaking. Possibly his neck. That afternoon, he'd suddenly remembered he had an appointment with a client – "Nothing like you, Shizu-chan. This one actually doesn't go out of his way to make my life difficult." "Fuck you, flea." – and left with a skip and a promise to pick up some food on the way back.

By the time it got dark, Shizuo gave up waiting and helped himself to a good portion of the contents of Izaya's fridge. The flea would probably bitch about it. Well, the unreliable bastard should have come back earlier then, shouldn't he?

He'd fallen asleep on Izaya's couch – like everything else in the place, it was too big, too over done, but at least Shizuo could stretch out on it without his ankles hanging off the edge – when the sounds in the hallway startled him awake.

The adrenaline rush made his ears ring as he jumped off the couch, too light-headed for a second to think straight. There was nothing to hand besides Izaya's coffee table. It was awkward to brandish a stylized square of chrome and glass as any effective weapon but fuck if he was going anywhere unarmed. Not again. Hearing his breath reverberating harshly in his head, he edged closer to the source of the sound.

They couldn't have found him. They _couldn't _have…

It didn't matter. This time he'd get to them first. He'd break his makeshift weapon over their skulls till there was nothing but dust left.

A voice stole from the darkness, sounding a little bemused.

"What are you doing with my coffee table?"

He almost laughed out loud to see the flea's outline stumbling in the dark.

_Fuck. I got all worked up for nothing…_

Only that wasn't quite true. Something about the way Izaya held himself didn't seem right, and Shizuo still couldn't shake off the sense that something was wrong. Scowling, he set the coffee table down, took a step forward and hit on the light.

Izaya squinted a glare him, and the reason Shizuo's instincts went into overdrive became clear the moment he set eyes on the nasty gash in Izaya's upper arm. The flea was holding onto his arm as though it was ready to drop off, scarlet rivulets dripping over his fingers. His jacket was already on the floor, but there was blood staining the fur trim too, and a cold nameless terror was churning in Shizuo's gut.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Ah, it's nothing," Izaya sent him a teeth-gritted smile. "I've had worse. Usually from you."

He bit down on the guilt. Why the hell did he feel guilty about beating up the flea in the past? Izaya had asked for it, and those who asked for it deserved all they got, didn't they? "That's not nothing, flea."

"Okay, it's nothing _much_." Izaya amended. "Is that better?" He gingerly peeled his torn sleeve away from his arm. The fabric slapped back against his skin, sounding wet and heavy. "I think I need to pick better clients, ne?"

"Is that who did this?" Shizuo arched a brow. "I thought you said he wasn't trouble?"

"Everyone's trouble, Shizu-chan. One way or another."

Said the very personification of it. He folded his arms across his chest, watching the flea try to twist around to see the extent of the damage.

"Can you…?" Izaya began, before shaking his head. "No, don't worry about it."

"What?"

"No, honestly it's fine. I'd be asking too much of you right now."

"You want some help with that," Shizuo said flatly. He'd patched himself up enough after fights to know there were some places you just couldn't reach on your own. He'd put his back out once or twice trying, but it was still a better alternative than going to Shinra for every scratch and scrape.

"But you can't do that, can you?" Izaya waved him off with his good hand. "It's fine, Shizu-chan. It's not that bad, I'm sure I can manage."

"Right." Shizuo snorted a humourless laugh. "'Cause it's not just because of me that you have no mirrors in your apartment."

Izaya's shoulders slumped a little. Shizuo shook his head.

"Fuck, you're an idiot. You have any supplies?"

"Ah, not as many as you Shizu-chan." Izaya's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "First aid kit is under the sink."

It wasn't that big a deal, he told himself. Just treating a wound, something he'd done a hundred times before. He'd be the one doing the touching. He'd be the one in control. And it wasn't as though Izaya didn't recognize the risk he ran, asking for his help.

Turning for the kitchen, he waved Izaya off towards the bathroom, figuring the flea wouldn't enjoy bleeding all over his expensive furniture. "Go and sit down before you pass out."

He thought maybe he heard a smile in Izaya's voice. "Whatever you say, Shizu-chan."

* * *

><p>While Shizuo clattered around in his kitchen – how complex a direction was "under the sink", anyway? Far too complicated for protozoan brains, clearly… – Izaya headed for his mirrorless bathroom, carefully stripping off his torn shirt.<p>

_Well… that went better than expected._

Grimacing, he poked gingerly at the cut. It wasn't that bad; a few butterfly stitches should hold it closed well enough. Soaking one of the hand towels in the sink, he used it to wipe up most of the blood. When he looked up, Shizuo was hovering in the bathroom doorway, the small first aid kit dwarfed by his hands.

"See?" Izaya twisted his arm around. "It looked worse than it is."

Shizuo grunted something unflattering, setting the kit down on the edge of the sink. Izaya looked at him over his shoulder, and smiled. "This is the second time in just over a week we've patched each other up. Better not make a habit of it, ne?"

He heard Shizuo's fingers falter in their rummage of the first aid box. "A week? Feels longer."

"I guess it would."

Shizuo didn't answer, and Izaya turned his attention back to his own hands while the blond poured some antiseptic liquid onto a cotton pad, its clean, clinical smell cloying in the small room.

The cut might not have been deep, but it still stung like acid when Shizuo swiped the antiseptic down its length. Izaya hissed a breath. Shizuo slowed down, but didn't stop. Every now and then, the tips of his fingers brushed against sore skin, and Izaya found it hard to describe the sensation. Not quite pain. Certainly not pleasant. But a little like scratching an itch even if you knew you were only making things worse.

The wet towel he'd used to wipe up the blood had left the nape of his neck damp. He shivered at the heat of Shizuo's breath, so close to the wet ends of his hair as he leaned closer to start applying the thin strips of tape. "You need to be more careful, flea."

"Ah, I can look after myself Shizu-chan. You know that."

Shizuo's hands paused. Izaya thought he felt a shudder run through the tips of his fingers.

"Yeah, but sometimes that's…"

Not enough.

"Look, I don't think my pissed off client has anything to do with what happened to you, if that's what you're worrying about. I don't think anyone's targeting me just because of my connection to you, or anything else that's going through that simple brain of yours right now.

"That's not—"

"And even if they were… like I said, I can look after myself. So don't worry about it."

Shizuo worked on in silence, strong fingers smoothing the thin strips of adhesive along the length of the cut. Izaya recalled a conversation he'd had with one of the Awakusu-kai underlings once, who'd told him the story of how he'd felt so bonelessly relaxed while he was getting his tattoo done, he'd almost fallen asleep. It sounded a little far-fetched, but there was something strangely soothing about the way the sting of the wound faded under Shizuo's careful ministrations, that the story carried a little more weight.

_Ah, well, he's used to it, I suppose…_

Laying a thin pad of gauze over the butterfly stitches, Shizuo began to tape it up. The sound of his voice almost roused Izaya from a stupor.

"You know, when I… when it was happening, I thought maybe it had something to do with you."

Izaya froze, then shook his head so hard he heard Shizuo mutter a curse as the tape he was applying stuck to itself instead of the gauze. "It didn't. I know why you'd think that, but I would never get involved with something like this."

Well, maybe never was an exaggeration – you never knew what weaponry you might need in your arsenal some day – but the idea that even in the middle of his trauma, Shizuo immediately thought Izaya was behind it all…

He felt Shizuo shrug. Tearing off another strip of tape, he pressed it down firmly along the edge of the gauze. "I figured that much as soon as I ran into you. If you had something to do with it, I'd know. You'd make damn sure I knew."

True enough. Part of the thrill of playing with Shizu-chan was the moment he realized who was pulling the strings. One of the things that irritated him most about their current predicament was that someone _else_ had been Shizuo's puppeteer. That someone else had achieved things he couldn't.

"Then doesn't this bother you?"

"Huh?"

"Well, if you were thinking of me while you were being raped, isn't this harder on you than you're letting on?"

He felt Shizuo flinch back at the word. Maybe he should have chosen something vaguer, but he didn't think Shizuo would appreciate such a tentative attempt to spare his feelings. Besides, that's what it was; it wasn't a fight, or an assault, it wasn't a mistake or an error of judgement, it wasn't punishment for some unknown sin. It wasn't Shizuo's fault, and the sooner the blond realized that the better it'd be for them both. The sooner they could get back to normal.

"I wasn't _thinking_ about you, goddamn flea…" There was just the faintest hint of his usual pissed-off and flustered Shizuo in the words. And then, quiet enough that Izaya had to lean back slightly to hear it. "I was just… trying to figure out why."

"Shizu-chan…"

Shizuo shut the first aid kit with a resounding click, and stood up. Apparently the conversation was done.

"You should still call Shinra. It might need proper stitches or something."

"Aw, your concern warms my soul Shizu-chan."

"Fuck you, flea," Shizuo muttered as he stalked out of the bathroom. "Like I give a shit if you bleed to death."

"But you clearly do," Izaya smiled to himself, before calling out loudly enough for the blond to hear. "And no, I'm sure I don't need stitches."

After all, when he'd made that cut he'd been careful to make it messy enough to look dramatic, but shallow enough that it would barely leave more than a superficial scar. Yes, he'd wanted to see what Shizuo did, but not at the expense of rendering himself out of action for any length of time.

It was worth an extensive dry cleaners' bill for his coat. It might have looked more realistic if he'd cut through the sleeve, but he liked his jacket too much. He'd worried that the angle he could reach with the flick knife would give him away, that Shizuo would be able to tell, but he shouldn't have been so concerned; his naïve protozoan just saw the wound, just saw someone hurt and that over rode anything else. Including common sense.

Still, he wasn't particularly pleased with the outcome of his little experiment.

Wasn't it Shizu-chan who had the issue with touching? So why had the rough, brusque touch of the blond's fingers made Izaya shiver? Frowning, he felt for the neat edges of the dressing. Why could he still feel those fingers, past the lingering sting of the cut, as if they were still there?

Okay. So tonight had been interesting, even if it was ultimately a failure. He'd just chalk it up and move on. It wouldn't take long for Shizuo to realize how many boundaries he'd just crossed, and when that happened…

It was time to step up a gear.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (parts 33 - 39)  
><strong>_

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.**_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Eight

After Shizuo went to bed – and how disgustingly domestic was _that_? – Izaya booted up his laptop and got to work. Over the past few days, he'd shifted his priority to being Shizu-chan's amateur therapist, but what sort of information broker would he be if he hadn't left just a few irons in the fire?

He was a patient man; under normal circumstances he wouldn't have minded sitting back to wait for these cretins to make the mistakes themselves. Their kind always did. But these weren't normal circumstances, and the sooner Izaya could get Shizuo out from under his roof the better.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling the ache of the cut on his arm and the way the tape tugged at his skin like it was trying to get his attention.

Fortunately, it didn't take long for one of his contacts to call and distract him. His cell vibrated on the table, display flashing. In the eerie glow of the laptop screen, Izaya smiled as he answered.

"So, what do you have for me?"

"One of those guys you were asking about a couple weeks ago? That Hayashi guy? I heard he's been sniffing around 'Bukuro again."

"Has he now…"

"And word is he's had some bust up with the guys he hung around. Conflict of interest of his business practices, shall we say. They didn't want to go up against the Awakusu-kai, and I guess he's dumb enough to try all by himself."

If that was all they were worried about, they really had no idea what they were dealing with. They couldn't have played more into his hands if they tried. He bit back the flare of irritation at how something so stupid could best Shizu-chan.

He drew up Hayashi's file. Twenty eight years old. Originally from Gifu, but moved to Tokyo with his mother when he was still very young. The mother remarried and Hayashi actually managed to graduate high school, though with even worse grades than Shizu-chan, and that was saying something. Then his family moved away, and he began to get involved with gangs – _probably trying to replace his 'family', ne? _The longest he'd held down a legitimate job was four months, and there were a list of petty crimes so long that scrolled off the bottom of the screen. Most of them seemed to involve theft or stolen property; it was feasible he'd try to set up a similar racket. A few years ago, that alone might have been enough to piss the yakuza off, but everyone's ethics tended to waver in the face of a tanking economy – adapt or fade into obscurity. It probably wasn't going to be enough to put him on Shiki's radar unless the hapless Hayashi got a little… _encouragement_.

"Hmm. Why don't you suggest to him that working with me could be beneficial to him?"

"Whoever you're working for this time ain't gonna be happy about that…"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it. I doubt he'll be hanging around long." _Though you're right, my current employer is an absolute nightmare to work for, so I should tread carefully, ne?_"Anything on the others?"

"Nothing new. They've been staying out of 'Bukuro, anyway."

He did a cursory scan of the other three files, before closing it down and bringing up a banking page on his browser. He tapped in the login details for a fictitious alias, waiting for the transfer page to load. "Is that Nishimura guy still working for the Wakahisa Group in Ueno?"

"Haven't heard otherwise."

"Are they still branching out into those experimental drugs?"

"There was talk a while back that they'd put it on the back burner. Just isn't the market for that shit right now, I guess. That or it was hard to get it working right at safe levels. But they haven't written it off entirely. Nishimura has a lot of cash tied up in it, he's not gonna let it slide that easy."

According to Izaya's other information, most of that tied up cash came in the form of Nishimura's family home. Never a good idea to mix business with pleasure...

"Ah." He typed in the amount he decided the information was worth, clicking 'send'. "That'll be enough for now. I'll be in touch again if you can offer me anything new."

He smiled as he waited out the brief silence, punctuated only by the muted clicks of a mouse on the other end of the line.

"Hey," the contact sounded irate. "This isn't as much as we agreed."

"It's all my client sees fit to pay right now. Once the desired outcome is achieved, then you'll get the rest."

And it would be worth every penny.

Hanging up the call, he shut off the laptop, stood and stretched. In the muffled quiet, he chuckled softly at the thought of his 'client'.

His gaze landed on the spare bedroom door. If he checked right now, would Shizuo be awake and cursing his weakness, pissed off that he was stuck here with the man he despised most of his own free will? Or would he be sleeping peacefully, unconcerned that the man who'd spent every moment they'd known each other trying to kill him could do just that any time he chose?

Well, one way to find out…

The door opened silently. The apartment was never really dark, there were too many other lights – other _lives_— surrounding the building for that, so the only illumination came from the floor-length window. It cast a long, distorted strip of light across the bed. As he stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes adjusted well enough to the dimness to make out the rise and fall of the sheets as Shizuo slept.

It was an irresponsible risk; if Shizuo woke up now to a figure looming in the doorway watching him sleep, it wouldn't be good. It'd set them back days. But he still couldn't make his body move.

Shizuo frowned in his sleep. Honestly, that shouldn't have been a surprise. Izaya was tempted to poke at the furrow between his brows, smooth it in an attempt to see a Shizuo who was even vaguely relaxed. He probably didn't know how; whenever he watched the things the blond did to while away the hours, there was always a tension to Shizuo's face, never letting down his guard.

Well, neither did Izaya, but at least he'd learned to do it with a smile. It kept people guessing.

Muttering something, Shizuo rolled onto his back, one arm flung across the empty half of the bed. Who on earth, when presented with a king size bed all to themselves, still slept in a confining position on one side? Izaya used every inch of his, if the tangle of sheets every morning was testament to anything, but then he'd always been a restless sleeper. Of course, if anyone asked, he slept just fine.

The light caught Shizuo's profile, and turned washed the gold from his hair. Something about the play of shadows across his face made it look far more delicate, far more _innocent_, than it really was. The arm sprawled across the mattress shifted restlessly, fingers twitching as though Shizuo was reaching out for something. Almost in sync, Izaya found himself touching the edges of that neatly-taped bandage again.

_Damn._

Dropping his hand as though he'd just touched something vile, he glared at the sleeping figure. It was totally irrelevant that Shizuo hadn't done anything besides, well, sleep, but someone had to take the blame for the cold, insidious irritation gnawing at the back of his mind like a rat chewing on a power cable. And if Shizuo didn't look so human, so fragile, asleep fully-dressed in Izaya's bed, he wouldn't be feeling that way at all.

_If only you weren't everything you are, Shizu-chan…_

Annoyed, he shoved himself away from the doorframe, pulling the door closed quietly behind him. There was no place for 'if only' in his world. 'If only' was for those too weak to realize they could control their lives if they just put forth a little effort, made a few sacrifices.

"Get better, Shizu-chan," he murmured at the closed door, turning for his own bedroom. "So I can get you out of my life."

* * *

><p>He blamed the complicated logistics of his plan for making his sleep fitful. Usually, working out the kinks in a course of action soothed him. There was something hypnotically restful in accounting for every eventuality, every twist in the maze that a human might take when cornered. But when he woke for the fifth time just as dawn was breaking, it was probably time to give up and do something productive with his time instead.<p>

He was already showered, dressed, and perusing the paper for anything useful when the spare bedroom door opened.

"Good morning, Shizu-chan!"

Shizuo seemed surprised to see him, like Izaya had no right to be so chirpy while he enjoyed his breakfast at his own kitchen counter. His gaze dropped, voice gruff and a little husky from sleep.

"How's your arm?"

"Fine. Shizu-chan's a good nursemaid."

"Yeah, well…"

Shizuo shuffled over to the fridge, pulling out the milk. There was a thoughtlessness to the way he took a glass from the cupboard, pushing the door closed with his hip as he brought both items back to the counter that made Izaya seethe.

He didn't want this. He didn't want to think there was anything natural about the way Shizuo acted like he owned the place. He didn't. He didn't belong here. He'd be gone as soon as Izaya was done with him.

He watched Shizuo drink his milk. Even the way he swallowed, the muscles in a strong neck working around every mouthful, annoyed him for no good reason. When Shizuo set the glass down, meeting his eyes with a guarded scowl and a snarled "What?" Izaya just smiled.

"Your turn."

Shizuo blinked. "My turn to _what_?"

He scooted his barstool closer, pleased when all Shizuo did was scowl even more suspiciously. The sunshine cut a slice of light between their silhouettes, and the countertop was warm when Izaya placed his hand on it, palm turned upwards.

"After last night, this should be easy for you."

"Che…"

Maybe Shizuo was actually learning something, because that was all the explanation he needed to understand what was required of him. A pity; Izaya already missed that method of getting him all flustered.

Shizuo's fingers were cold from holding the glass. They hovered above his outstretched palm, as if their owner couldn't quite contemplate closing the distance. Then Shizuo huffed an irritated breath, pressing his fingertips a little awkwardly against Izaya's.

Damn. That same odd shiver danced across his skin at the contact. Izaya'd half hoped last night had been his imagination.

He was afraid a direct glance would throw Shizuo off, but when he turned his head slowly he could see that Shizuo's focus was exclusively on what he was doing. Beneath sleep-rumpled bangs, that ever present frown was one of concentration.

A little bolder, Shizuo lay his fingers along the length of Izaya's, skin warming with more contact. So annoying. He'd never noticed just how much thicker and longer Shizuo's fingers were compared to his before, even through all their other 'sessions'. Maybe there was just something different about having that paw on top of his, covering him, capable of smashing him down through the counter but doing little more than whispering nervously against his skin. As though he was fragile, easily broken.

His nerves felt on edge, as though they were waiting for something, grasping at something the way Shizuo's had had been last night in his sleep, and if the blond just moved his fingers a certain way Izaya might figure out what that 'something' was. But Shizuo never did, and the sensation just crept higher. Even the nape of his neck was tingling; he had to resist the urge to reach up and rub the feeling away.

And when Shizuo's fingers dipped between his, reflex made his fingers curl, interlacing, holding on. He was half-aware of the fact Shizuo barely flinched, but far more occupied with how warm that hand was. Did monsters have higher body temperatures than humans? It might explain a lot. Like the strange, sated drowsiness that instinctively made him lean his head on Shizuo's shoulder, a pillow that immediately tensed under his cheek.

"Flea…" Shizuo's voice was a low, warning rumble, like that of a cat about to lash out its claws. Albeit a rather _bewildered_ cat. "Why the fuck are you holding my hand?"

Hmm. Good question. But he knew a better one.

"Why are you letting me?"

Ah, to be able to dissect Shizuo's thoughts in the too-long moment it took for him to shove Izaya away and snatch him hand back. Surely there had been some epic battle in that protozoan brain. Shizuo certainly looked as though he'd gone a few rounds with something.

"Good, ne?" He rested his chin on the hand Shizuo had touched, almost pressing his lips against his palm. "It won't be long before you can kill me with your bare hands."

"Yeah." Shizuo's eyes were dark and furious. "That _is_ good. Can't fucking wait."

"Ah, me neither Shizu-chan. It'll be just like the good old days." He rocked the stool back, balancing it on two legs while he watched Shizuo return the milk to the fridge, slamming the door with a resounding whump. So, seeing as I'm far too wounded to bother with work today, why don't we go out for lunch? I'm tired of eating at home. Ah, the sacrifices I'm making for you, Shizu-chan…"

"Out?" He didn't miss the little flare of anxiety that tightened Shizuo's expression when he looked up. "Out where?"

"Hmm. I'll even go to a fast-food place with you if I have to. Just don't expect me to eat anything. But they're always good places to people watch, so I'll still enjoy myself." He landed the stool in its correct position again, tilting his head as he smiled. "We could go early and miss the lunch crowd, if you prefer. Or I could go in and get you something, you could wait outside."

Shizuo glared at him. "I can manage a restaurant, thanks, so…" He looked away as the words trailed off, jaw tense.

_Interesting… _

"All right, but we'll still go early." Izaya nodded, mostly to himself since Shizuo still wouldn't look at him. "And I want to drop by the office on the way to check that Namie-chan can cope without me for the day."

"Why d'you need me tagging along for that?"

_Because it'll probably be entertaining. _

"Because it's on the way, and it won't do you any harm to get some fresh air that you're don't immediately pollute with your cigarettes." He forced his tone to soften, sensing that Shizuo was teetering on the fence between agreeing and telling him to do something anatomically impossible. "Besides, this is Shinjuku, remember? No one's going to look twice at you."

That seemed to sway it. Shizuo shrugged, straightening a little. "Yeah, maybe. But you're paying for the food."

"Understood." Izaya kept smiling at the back of the blond's head right up until the point it disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. "After all, Shizu-chan is my kept woman now, ne?"

Izaya checked his messages half a dozen times before Shizuo was done in the bathroom, and another dozen by the time he'd summoned up the nerve to growl "Fine, let's go get this crap over with..." Nothing.

That was okay, he thought, herding a reluctant Shizuo out of the apartment. He'd wait as long as it took.

* * *

><p>'As long as it took' began to grate on his patience after another week of radio silence. Didn't Hayashi know who he was? People tripped over themselves to enlist Izaya's services, who the hell was he to ignore the offer?<p>

Clearly, he wasn't worthy of being called a human. He was a stain on humans that needed to be wiped out. Izaya mentally allowed another twenty-four hours; if Hayashi hadn't contacted him by then, with a good reason why it had taken this long and a grovelling apology for his lack of manners, it would be time for a little trip to Ikebukuro.

Even if a part of him didn't want to see the city devoid of its main attraction…

Shizuo, however, seemed in no hurry to leave. While it suited Izaya's long-term plans, it wasn't doing much for his short-term frustration. He broached it once, when he'd joined Shizuo on the roof while the blond worked his way through a packet of cigarettes.

"Your friends are probably wondering where you are."

"Doubt it."

"Shouldn't you tell them you're alive, at least?"

Shizuo shook his head. "I'm still not…" He'd turned, blowing a stream of smoke out across the cityscape. Izaya wondered if he knew he was exhaling in the direction of Ikebukuro. "Anyway, I quit my job. No one needs me for anything, they won't care."

Sometimes, Shizu-chan was especially stupid, to the point Izaya had no idea how the hell he'd survived this long. Only his strength, it had to be. If natural selection relied on Shizuo's intelligence, he'd have been extinct years ago.

And maybe his experiment had backfired a little on him, but it still reinforced his belief that it wouldn't be long until he could bring Shizuo in on his intentions. Whether he realized it or not, Shizu-chan was finding it harder and harder to walk away and return to his everyday life. Every step he took towards 'fixing' himself only bound him deeper in Izaya's debt.

_And you say you're not a gambling man, Shizu-chan…_

Shizuo never let him reach for his hand, but if Izaya left his upturned next to him for long enough, the blond usually reached for him instead, a war raging in his eyes every time. And sometimes, when it felt as though Shizuo was concentrating particularly hard – was fighting himself particularly hard – Izaya would lean his head against the blond's shoulder, and pretend to sleep while he listened to Shizuo all but creak with the tension of not shaking him off.

And it was that position that the jingly ring tone on Izaya's cell phone disturbed one afternoon. Izaya had been feigning a doze, while Shizuo continued his not-so-secret love affair with Izaya's widescreen TV, distractedly watching some martial arts show with the sound turned down.

Such a _considerate_ house guest…

Levering himself away from Shizuo's shoulder he picked it up, pouting a little at the caller ID.

"Shinra, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Actually, I'm trying to get a hold of Shizuo. No one's heard from him in days, he's not at home…" Shinra sighed, the question obviously reluctant. "Do you have any idea where he might be?"

Izaya chuckled. "And why might I know that?"

"Because you always do," Shinra said brightly "Oh, except for the one time it might have been useful."

Glares didn't travel well through cell phones, but that didn't stop Izaya trying. "I can't be everywhere, you know."

"Unless it suits you. So, do you know where he is or not?"

Bored now, Izaya held out the cell phone to Shizuo. "It's Shinra, he wants to talk to you."

Shizuo hesitated for a moment, before taking the phone. "Hey, Shinra…" At whatever the good doctor asked, Shizuo's gaze slid guiltily towards Izaya before looking away. "Ah, it's a long story. No, it's fine, really. Yeah, I know, but…" Another look. Shizuo would be _terrible_ at poker. "Yeah, I do. So what did you need?" A frown knit his brows, and just deepened the longer Shinra spoke. "Is that… is that really necessary? I mean… Yeah, yeah I get it. Nah… yeah, you're probably right. Sure, whenever."

Shizuo hung up, but kept scowling at the phone as if it had just insulted his intelligence. Izaya leaned over, taking it from his hands before it turned into confetti.

"What did he want?"

"Just checking how I was." The frown hadn't lifted. "He thinks since it's been a couple of weeks, it might be a good idea to run some tests. Y'know… just in case."

Izaya blinked. "In case of…?" _Oh._

"Shinra doesn't think it's very likely, but he's probably right that it's better to be safe. The bastard probably just wants some excuse to stick needles in me." The lame joke tugged at Shizuo's lips, but never chased the unease from his eyes. "Fuck… this thing's just… I thought it'd be over if I just got _out_, but…"

_But it never ends._ Shizuo didn't need to say it, the sentiment was etched in every tightly wound muscle, in every flicker of that averted gaze, as though staring at Izaya long enough would somehow make it all _real_.

"Y'know, he's probably just trying to scare me into showing my face so he can see I'm still alive."

"Is it working?"

Shizuo shrugged. "I said I'd head over there tomorrow."

"There's…" Izaya licked too-dry lips, and tried again. There were some directions his mind refused to take, but his thoughts were dragging him there anyway. "There's a _reason _there'd be a risk..?"

Dull brown eyes met his, briefly. "Seriously?" Shizuo's smile was bleak. "Don't give me that naïve crap, flea. They didn't exactly stop off at the drugstore first. I don't think my personal well-being was too fucking high on their agenda at the time…"

In his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Shizuo shiver at that thought, but Izaya had to close his eyes, use the darkness to blot out the images in his head. Images he thought he'd accepted in a rational, logical way, even if he hadn't spent much time thinking about the details. But there was nothing rational about his thoughts now. Nothing logical about the tightness in his chest as he pictured his Shizu-chan, stained and tarnished by someone else. The monster he'd made, bloodied and broken, damaged and degraded by someone _else_.

Someone else taking him, hurting him, making him scream.

No. Not possible, not fucking _permissible_. No one had that right. No one. And now he had to accept that some vermin might very well have left some disgusting little parting gift?

It… it had never even occurred to him, and the very admission of that chilled him. It ought to have occurred to him. He should have thought of _everything_, every outcome, every possibility. Just because Shizuo was a monster didn't mean the normal rules didn't apply to him, just the same as everyone else.

Just as though he was human.

But he'd never felt this way with his humans. All the fascination in the world couldn't match the anvil-heavy pressure of this… rage? Was that what this was? Was this what Shizu-chan had to deal with every time the beast in his soul took control?

_It's okay. It's all okay. They're going to pay, regardless of the amount of damage they've done. Even if they've made it so that things can_ never _get back to normal, it's okay. I'll figure it out. I'm better than them, smarter than them, I'll find some way to—_

"Oi, flea?" Shizuo was watching him. Or more specifically, watching the way Izaya's hands had dug so hard into the edge of the couch, the seams were distorting.

"Ah, sorry, I was…" Izaya shook his head, offering Shizuo his best apologetic smile. "Sorry."

Shizuo watched him sceptically for a moment, before shrugging. "Anyway, Celty'll come pick me up tomorrow. It shouldn't take long, and—"

"I'm going with you."

"Huh?" Shizuo looked up. "I'm only going to Shinra's place."

_And who's to say you'll come back?_

"I know. I just… Never mind. Forget it."

He found something utterly compelling to do with his cellphone, moving some of his contacts around in their respective folders, changing the wallpaper. All the while he could feel that amber gaze on him, mystified by his behaviour.

Shizuo wasn't the only one…

"Whatever." Shizuo eventually turned his attention back to the TV, as though either of them could truly think about anything else. "But you can call Celty back and spare her the wasted trip."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 40 - 47)  
><strong>_

_Yeah, so regular I'm-blushing-like-an-idiot-because-you-guys-are-awesome service resumed. Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback!**  
><strong>_

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.**_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Nine

If he'd expected some sort of fucking meaningful or cathartic reaction going back to Ikebukuro, Shizuo would have been disappointed. Lucky for him, he didn't expect much of anything anymore. He'd tried to convince Izaya that he'd be fine on the train – it was a mid-week mid-morning, hardly rush hour – but the flea insisted on another one of his damn expensive taxi rides. When it dropped them off outside Shinra's place, Shizuo imagined how long it would have taken to walk here from the station. How many faces he'd rather avoid he would've passed on the way.

How the hell had Izaya _known_ that, worked it out long before Shizuo himself even had a clue? Maybe he ought to be thanking Izaya for averting an all too public incident at the train station, but it just pissed him off. Izaya always knew which switches to flip.

Why the hell was the flea even _here_? Why was it such a big damn deal to him? Shizuo was the one who'd just been told 'hey, those guys might not've just fucked you, who knows, maybe they fucked you up too!', and Izaya was the one acting like someone'd stolen his favourite laptop.

Ah, who the hell cared. Izaya would do whatever he wanted anyway. At least this way he might not cause some fucking scene, especially here. Shinra's neighbourhood didn't really need re-landscaping.

_Heh… maybe Ikebukuro missed us that much, huh?_

They were on the sidewalk outside Shinra's apartment building when Izaya's phone rang.

And there it was again, that frightening version of the flea, all icy eyes and dangerous grin as he answered. "Ah, it's you. I've been waiting for you to call."

It was a pleasant morning. The buildings on Shinra's street blocked out whatever breeze there was, and the sunshine when it hit the black of his uniform seeped in warm and golden. But every time he glanced at Izaya, every time the flea spoke to whoever was on the end of that call – _God help the poor fucking bastard, seriously…_- the temperature plunged.

Izaya had never really scared him, even at his most vicious, even when he was slashing at Shizuo with sharp objects and even sharper words. The flea irritated him, pissed him off, made him angry, frustrated, and yeah, just a little fucking confused though he'd never admit it, but not _scared_. Shizuo saved his fear for other things – important things - so there'd always been that little part of him burning bright against all his doubts that made him think he could take whatever Izaya threw at him. Because maybe Shizuo was a monster, but Izaya was a slimy, devious little shit. Unlike him, Izaya had never even tried tempering that inhuman side of his – the flea courted, wooed and embraced it. Unlike him, Izaya never cared for all the reasons he _should_ hold back. So what if Shizuo failed at every attempt - didn't they say it was better to try and fail than not try at all? Izaya never gave a crap, and that was why all those times Shizuo had called him on it only nicked his conscience. It was hard to feel guilty for beating the shit out of a little insect who felt zero shame for the things he did, the people he hurt, the lives he ruined.

But in all that time, he'd never felt the way he did on a bright, suburban Ikebukuro street with no flick blade or vending machine in sight. He'd never felt this relieved that the remorseless malice in Izaya's smile was aimed at someone _else_.

What the hell had the mystery caller done to deserve that look?

He looked away when Izaya finished the call. Instinct told him he didn't want to get involved with whatever the flea was up to, and paying too much attention would only encourage him.

_Yeah, right. Like he needs encouraging._

"Ah, I'm sorry Shizu-chan, I have to go and deal with something important." Izaya pocketed the cell phone. The way he smiled now might have melted whatever ice had formed in his eyes, if Shizuo didn't know without a doubt that _this_ was the mask. "But it won't take long. I'll come back to pick you up when I'm done."

"Oi…" Shizuo began, but Izaya had already skipped off and disappeared around the corner.

Dumbfuck. Who was the one who'd made a huge fucking fuss about tagging along in the first place?

_Yeah, and who was the dumbfuck who _let _him?_

Shizuo still had no excuse for that. No goddamn reason, except the way the flea had looked at him, wide-eyed and… ah, fuck, not _genuine_, because this was Izaya and he'd already established that the flea couldn't be sincere about anything, but…

It only went to stamp the dumbfuck label in harder, but the guy who'd looked at him after Shinra's phone call wasn't anyone Shizuo thought he'd seen before. He had no idea why it'd piss Izaya off that much – he was pretty sure no one should've been more pissed off than him, really – but the flea was damn near shaking with it. And who the hell knew the sort of things he might get into his head in that sort of mood. It had seemed the only thing to do to diffuse the situation.

And for what? For 'something important' to come up. Goddamn flea. Unreliable bastard.

He stalked from the elevator to Shinra's door, knocking harder than he'd intended.

"Ah, Shizuo!" How the fuck Shinra could always look so perky even when he held people's lives in his hands, Shizuo never knew. "Come in, come in."

He followed Shinra into the apartment, trying not to remember the last time he was here.

"Sorry for calling you so suddenly."

"Don't worry about it. Not like I was busy or something."

"Celty's out," Shinra said, opening the door to the examination room. "She took on a last minute job seeing as you didn't need a ride over."

"Right…"

"Not that I mind. I should be mad at you for even entertaining the idea of riding on my Celty's bike, taking her into your arms…" Shinra looked like he was about to swoon. Despite himself, Shizuo snorted a laugh.

"She lives with you, I figure she deserved a break from the groping."

"Oh, so harsh!" Shinra shook his head. "But that's good. More Celty for me."

"Perverted idiot…"

But he was half-smiling as he stepped through the door, which was probably what Shinra was after.

It didn't last. Just stepping through the door was like stepping back two weeks in time. He could still feel that same pain lancing through his body, and the lingering rush of the drug racing through his veins. He could see himself pinning Shinra against the wall.

_Shit… _

"You okay?" Shinra peered at him. "Sit down for a minute. I'll just get everything ready."

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Listening to Shinra unwrapping sterile needles, clanking around with metal trays, Shizuo sat down on the edge of the bed and stared down at his clenched fists. They were squeezed so tight he could see his pulse jump. Was everything he'd done for the past two weeks a waste of time? Was decimating what remained of his pride to grovel to a flea like Izaya for help for nothing?

_Guess we'll see, huh…?_

Shinra hesitated as he set the tray and its implements down on the swivel table next to the bed. Shizuo thought his hand twitched upwards a little, like he was about to lift it to touch his throat. "Are you going to be all right with this? I can wait and ask Celty to help if it'd make you feel better."

Shizuo closed his eyes. As usual, the first things that raced through his mind were echoes of cold hands, cold concrete. But if he just breathed, just tried to relax the muscles that tensed of their own volition at the adrenaline surge, he could replace that with thoughts of a warm, undemanding touch. With gentle fingers drawing characters on the back of his hand.

"Nah." He looked up at Shinra, unfastening his sleeve as he held out his arm. "Just don't spring any surprises on me, that's all."

He lost count of the number of times he had to remind himself of Izaya's touch while Shinra drew the blood samples. It was fucked up enough that he had to think about Izaya at all, let alone for something so pathetic. Shinra was as professional and careful as he always was, but every time his fingers brushed against skin, Shizuo wanted to cringe away from it. Usually he couldn't even feel needles – hell, sometimes the damn things would break before they got too deep – but he kept flinching, wouldn't stay still, and past the sharp scrape of pain he heard Shinra's quietly exasperated sigh.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Shizuo."

"I know that." The mortification at the words did what no relaxation attempt could, his muscles freezing with shame. "Sorry."

Shinra tried again. It still hurt, but it worked and that was all that mattered.

"So…" He sat up, rolling down his sleeve as Shinra went to label and bag the vials. "You really think there's a risk?"

Shinra shook his head. "A minimal one, if there is. But it'd still be unforgiveable if I didn't check. When we got you back here, there was…" He trailed off, finding something fascinating to do with the vials. When he spoke again, his voice was overly cheery. "Well, there was a lot of blood, and knowing you we couldn't be sure if all of it was yours, so, you know…"

Not just blood. He could feel the echo of his clothes sticking to his skin, cold and viscous.

"Yeah. I know. Thanks, by the way."

Shinra glanced at him. "What for?"

"For…" It was Shizuo's turn to devote his attention to the asymmetric patterns in Shinra's ceiling tiles. One of them sat askew to the others, and he stared at it as he spoke. "Taking care of that."

Shinra's eyes crinkled in a smile behind his glasses. "You don't need to thank me for that. Although, if you did want to pay me back, you could let me take an extra sample, just for my own private use?" The smile didn't waver even when faced with a scowl that usually sent people running. "No?"

"You're a creepy bastard, Shinra."

Shinra chuckled. "I should have news for you in a few days. Should I still contact you through Izaya?"

"Uh… yeah, I guess."

"Oh, I suppose I should warn you, Celty's waiting to interrogate you about that."

Shizuo grimaced. "Shit, I'm surprised you haven't."

"I'd never steal my Celty's thunder." Shinra smiled breezily. "Ah, but I did try to tell her once… I wonder if there are things she can't see, even with whatever senses compensate for her missing head?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing…" A door closed somewhere in the apartment, and Shinra's face damn near sparkled. "Ah, my Celty's home. Celty~! We have a visitor who's finally decided to ease our concern and show his face."

Could shadows – or whatever the hell it _was_ curling from Celty's neck – be happy? Shizuo had no idea, didn't even want to think too hard about it, but there was something _pleased_ about the way the dark tendrils curled and flickered around the door as Celty's upper body peered into the room.

"Hey, Celty."

Tap, tap, tap. [I'm so glad you see you're all right!]

"Ah, I'm fine."

"I'll take these to the lab." Shinra nodded at the vials, sealed up in plastic bags now. "I'm sure you want it done as soon as possible, right?"

Well, ideally he didn't want it done at all. He didn't want there to be a reason it should be. "Yeah, I guess."

"Don't let him leave before I get back, Celty." Shinra paused by the door. "I want to join in the interrog—ooof!"

Shizuo winced a little in sympathy at the sharp jab Celty delivered to Shinra's gut. The doctor squinted wryly at what was written on the PDA she shoved at his nose at the same time she shoved him out of the door. "Ah, if that's what my Celty wants. I'll be in touch as soon as I know anything, Shizuo."

"Right…"

He'd sort of hoped Shinra was kidding about the interrogation thing. Apparently not.

"Sorry I haven't been in touch." He began, trying to pre-empt the worst of it. "I just… ah, who the fuck knows. I needed to get out of Ikebukuro for a while, y'know?"

Celty didn't reply. She seemed to be taking a hell of a long time to type whatever she wanted to ask next.

"But I'm okay, really. Well, this crap aside, anyway…"

[Did you really quit your job?]

Oh. _That._ He wondered where she'd heard it, whether Tom or Vorona had somehow enlisted the aid of the Headless Rider to track him down. Nah…

"Yeah."

[Why?]

"'Cause it wasn't working out." He couldn't tell her how he'd damn near attacked people he'd wanted to believe were friends. Maybe she didn't have a very high opinion of him anyway as things stood, and he couldn't blame her, but hell if he wouldn't cling on to what was left with every ounce of fucked up strength he had. "It was… making me react in ways I didn't like. So I figured it was safer to get out of that situation."

The shadows weren't happy anymore. They lashed in dark whips, restless and uncertain, taking up more and more space in the examination room. Or maybe it just seemed that way, black and stark against the clinical white.

"Hey, can we go someplace else?" He waved a hand vaguely at the room. "Being in here's pissing me off."

[Understood.]

He glanced casually at Shinra's apartment as he followed Celty down the hall and into the living room. The place was shiny and sharp, like Izaya's, but unlike Izaya's, there were signs of life here. Signs of humanity tucked away between the monochrome. He wondered whether it was Celty or Shinra who took care of all the plants in the apartment, from the weird little poofy thing on the coffee table to the tree in the corner. Whose taste had picked out the weird statue in the hall, whose inspired the oddly old-fashioned landscape painting in Shinra's glass-enclosed office? Who'd snacked on the grapes in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, leaving one solitary fruit that had rolled almost to the edge?

Oh. Well, okay _that_ one wasn't hard. 'Sides, even if Celty could eat, she wouldn't make as much of a mess as Shinra. He'd probably been so busy trying to sweet-talk Celty, he hadn't even noticed.

Nothing breathed in Izaya's apartment the way it did here. Was _that _what truly reflected the soulless man who lived there?

He couldn't remember how many cups he'd gone through – it felt like he broke one every damn time he came here – but Celty held one up in offering anyway as Shizuo slumped onto the couch.

"Nah, I'm fine. Thanks. Look, Celty…"

The tapping came nearer as she joined him on the couch. [I'm worried about you.]

Evasive rarely worked with Celty. She was more perceptive than most people would be if they had a dozen heads. Shizuo tried anyway. "Ah, Shinra doesn't think there's anything to worry about, so…"

[Not about that. I think… maybe I'd feel it if there was something wrong. And I don't. You feel the same as always.]

Well, considering her previous job, that probably wasn't far off the mark. He'd be lying if he said that didn't make him feel a little better about the whole mess.

Her next question, though…

[Why are you staying with Izaya?]

"Ah, that…" Shizuo scratched the back of his head, stalling for answers he didn't have. "It's—"

The PDA was shoved so close he almost went cross-eyed trying to read it. It didn't help that agitated wisps of smoke whipped back and forth across the screen. [A long story. That's what Shinra said.]

If pixelated words on a screen could arch a sarcastic 'yeah, right' brow, that'd be it.

"I know what I'm doing."

[Do you? You disappear without a trace, everyone's worried about you, and when you do show up you're with _him_. What are we supposed to think?]

Fuck it, _he_ didn't know what to think. Who the hell was he to try and explain something he didn't understand himself?

"That I'm a big boy and I can make my own decisions, maybe?"

Celty's shoulders sagged in a sigh. [Sorry. I just don't know if now's a good time to be getting involved with whatever he's planning. You're still…]. Her fingers stilled on the keypad.

Still broken. Still damaged. Still fucking useless.

"I'm okay." If he kept saying that, surely he was going to start believing it sooner or later. "Kinda worried now that Shinra's gonna clone me or something else just as fucked up, but…" He smiled a little. "I know it looks weird, but it's fine. Really."

[You'd tell me if it wasn't, wouldn't you?]

"'Course I would."

He wouldn't, and they both knew it. Celty didn't ask anything else, and Shizuo tried to relax into the silence that usually felt so comfortable with her.

Maybe it was just weird, sitting in silence without a warm, slender hand holding his.

Damn it all…

They were probably right. Staying with Izaya wasn't a smart idea, even if Shizuo'd been well aware of that from the start. Getting so used to that touch, to the point where he feared it was about the only thing keeping him grounded…

Yeah, Izaya was probably planning something. Shizuo couldn't even claim he wasn't already involved, somehow. But what would he do instead? He tried to picture himself reaching for Celty's hand, tried to imagine what he'd do if she reached for _him_.

He'd pull away. He'd fight. Then the rage would take him, and when it was done with him he'd be standing alone in the middle of a broken apartment, a home that didn't breathe anymore.

A chill centred between his shoulder blades, stiffening his spine. No, he was better off with Izaya. He was better off with someone he wouldn't mind if he hurt, a place he didn't care if he destroyed.

After all, it was impossible to rip the soul out of something that didn't have one.

* * *

><p>In an alleyway on the other side of Ikebukuro, Izaya waited to meet one of Shizuo's attackers.<p>

It was probably for the best that Hayashi called when he did. That strange rush of blood that compelled him to tag along with Shizuo had faltered the closer he got to Shinra's place. He didn't want to see Shizu-chan pretending to be human anymore.

Even if Hayashi hadn't shown the common courtesy of responding to someone's invitation, he'd have found some reason to ru— to _leave_.

_Ah, it seems I still like that quality of mine, huh…?_

The guy that slunk into the alley like the rat he truly was looked even less interesting in real life than he had in his photos. Not particularly tall, and although he was a little on the stocky side he had a strange ungainliness to his limbs. No wonder he'd failed abjectly in his life as a petty thief; graceful cat-burglar he wasn't.

Despite that, Hayashi looked in fine health. Good for him, better for Shizuo. Still cursing his lack of preparedness, cursing how superficially he'd taken Shizuo's issues, Izaya had gone back over the information he'd gathered. There was nothing on record for any of them, but then Shinra wasn't the only underground doctor in Tokyo. He was willing to bet the name on whatever samples Shinra sent for testing wouldn't read 'Shizuo Heiwajima'; it'd be the name of some missing runaway who'd been gone so long even his family forgot him, or the name of some gang lowlife who was currently resting in pieces in Tokyo Bay. If they could utilize those means, then so could other people, and there were still a handful of regular, substantial payments leaving the vermin's possession that he hadn't been able to track down yet.

He'd assumed, stupidly, _carelessly_, that it was bribe money, protection money, drug money, gang dues, any number of things. Paying some underground quack for medication hadn't been on his list.

It wasn't like him. He'd been so caught up in toying with Shizu-chan's new, fascinating neuroses that he'd lost sight of the bigger picture. All the more reason to move things along.

"Ah, Hayashi-san. I'm glad you finally called."

If the moron caught the heavy emphasis on 'finally', he didn't show it. Beady eyes narrowed on Izaya, and he bit back the urge to ask whether he was a disappointment, whether Hayashi's type was taller, fairer…

In his pocket, his fingers curled around his blade. He doubted Hayashi would jump him all by himself, but for some ridiculous reason he couldn't shake the way Shizuo's voice sounded while he was patching up Izaya's wound. "_You need to be more careful, flea." _Hayashi wasn't much of a threat alone, though. No, he'd needed four friends and enough drugs to drop a stallion to get by Shizu-chan.

_And I'm the coward? I don't think so._

"You're Orihara?"

"The one and only." _Unfortunately for you._ "I heard you were planning on setting up your business in Ikebukuro and thought I should come down personally to welcome you to the city."

"Why would you do that?"

Izaya ignored the question. "My sources tell me you're trying to stay ahead of the Awakasu-kai. I've done a little work for them in the past. I have information about their activities that'll prove invaluable to you in future if you want to stay out of their reach."

"Oh yeah?" Hayashi frowned, though obviously considering it. "How the fuck do I know you ain't working for them?"

Hands still in his pockets, Izaya shrugged with an affable, innocent smile. "I'm just an information broker. Consider me a neutral party. I work for whoever can afford me."

"And why'd you think I can?"

"Because I'm going to give you a discount." The smile turned dark. Leaning a little closer, Izaya let his voice drop. "Can I be honest with you, Hayashi-san? I've wanted to meet you face to face for a while now.

In the gloom of the alley, a sheen of sweat broke out across Hayashi's forehead, and Izaya immediately lowered this one's rank in the pecking order. He'd gone along with the rape, so he was still culpable, but he wasn't the one who'd come up with it. He wasn't sharp enough, wasn't aware enough. Simply put, it wasn't his style.

"Why?" Hayashi swallowed hard.

"You did me a big favour a while back, Hayashi-san…" Izaya murmured. "I've been meaning to repay you at the first possible opportunity."

"Huh?" The bastard had the nerve to look baffled.

"You should ask around about me. Do you know how long I've been trying to teach Shizuo Heiwajima a lesson he's unlikely to forget?"

"That's…" The penny dropped, then. Hayashi's eyes went wide and panicked. His hands began to flail, but Izaya bumped into his shoulder hard enough to make him stop.

"Ah, I admit at first I was rather put out that you and your friends got to him first, but the end result is the same, ne?" Izaya leaned back against a damp wall, and smiled.

"They're not my friends."

"Whatever. Now I don't have to waste my time dealing with him anymore. It's made my life so much easier. _You've_ made my life easier, Hayashi-san. So I'm going to return the favour. After all, it does no harm to cultivate a good working relationship early, does it?"

"Well…"

"And it'd be a shame if, somehow, Heiwajima would come to learn of your name, ne?" He tilted his head. "Now, I can guarantee you complete anonymity as my client, but other people around here… ah, they're not so careful, if you know what I mean."

"…You can seriously keep the Awakasu off my back?" Hayashi looked him up and down, dubiously. Granted, Izaya didn't look as though he could keep an over enthusiastic puppy off anyone's back, let alone a yakuza group, but he took personal insult at the way this idiot underestimated him. Even if it played into his hands; past the suspicion there was that flare of greed, the one humans displayed when you offered them something for nothing and they were too dumb to realize that was an impossible deal.

"Of course. I don't promise things I can't deliver."

Hayashi would still pay for the damage he'd done. Izaya didn't care if all he'd done was hold the other men's coats while they took turns hurting Shizu-chan, making him bleed, making him—

_Stop. The details aren't necessary. _All that mattered was that before Hayashi made up for his part in this mess, he'd spill every last thing he knew about the others.

"Then you should call me again, Hayashi-san. And don't leave it so long next time. I think you'll find working with me very beneficial." He pushed away from the wall, brushing close past the other man as he turned to leave the alley. "Oh, by the way, Hayashi-san…?"

Hayashi looked at him, still looking puzzled dumb. "What?"

"How are you feeling today?"

"I…" Hayashi frowned. "Fine. Why?"

Izaya beamed, coat swirling as he turned to walk away. "Ah, no reason."

Shizuo had been waiting in Shinra's lobby when Izaya finally made it back. He'd looked up at Izaya, eyes weary behind his sunglasses.

"What the hell made you look so happy?"

"Hmm, I wonder."

"Fuck it. I don't even want to know."

_Not yet, Shizu-chan, but you will. _

The journey back to Shinjuku was subdued, and as soon as he made sure his favourite plaything was safely ensconced back at the apartment – that Celty or Shinra hadn't turned his head, convinced him it was a bad idea to stay – Izaya made his excuses and headed to the office.

Hayashi would call. And he wouldn't leave it another week.

In the meantime, Izaya needed to take stock of the Awakasu-kai's recent movements. There'd be little point slotting in Hayashi's activities in an area they didn't care about. He was after maximum impact, maximum damage.

It was pretty late by the time he was done, but he still didn't want to go home yet. The sushi places in Shinjuku didn't have quite the same appeal as Russia Sushi, but the ootoro was decent. He parked himself on a bench, sitting on the back of it, feet planted on the seat, watching the crowds drift by as he ate.

Sometimes there'd be a street brawl or an argument to provide entertainment with dinner. Izaya would watch with a critical eye, shaking his head at all the mistakes the combatants made. _Shizu-chan would never do that._ Of course, humans didn't normally have vending machines at their disposal in a fight either, so it wasn't a fair comparison.

The arguments were more fun. Some trivial little game of he-said she-said that culminated in tearful apologies or theatrical flouncing. Izaya placed bets with himself on the outcomes as he listened to the bickering – usually the prize involved an extra helping of tuna, or, even more indulgently, a trip to visit Shizu-chan. For the most part, he won, but it was the times he lost that intrigued him the most. Long after the amorous – or not so – couple had left the street, he'd replay the conversation in his head, work out where he'd made his mistake and they'd made their choices.

That night, however, Shinjuku must have been in a mellow mood. One particularly lovey-dovey couple saw fit to sit directly across from him, completely lost in each other. She was a little on the skinny side, no curves to speak of. He was bigger, shoulders broad under a tailored jacket. She was dark, he was lighter, hair a salon-shiny brown. The way they sat, only their knees touched, but the intimacy might as well have been a rope glittering between them. With every longing look, with every way they mirrored each other's body language, Izaya lost his appetite for the otherwise delicious tuna.

She leaned closer, whispered something in his ear. He smiled at her as though she'd not only promised the world, but delivered it complete with balloons and ribbons. Everything there was to read, everything that meant anything, was written plain on the man's face, but all Izaya could see was the way Shizuo scowled even when he was sleeping.

_Why would you ever look at another human that way? What was to be gained from that sort of vulnerability?_

Izaya pushed his unappealing tuna around in its container, before giving up on it. It dropped in the trash with a soft wet noise as he stood from the bench, hands shoved in his pockets as he turned for home.

His kind of love wasn't like that. It wasn't that… tacky. His love was pure, distant, gently overseeing.

And that's how it had to stay.

The apartment was dark when he let himself in. Good. He didn't want to deal with Shizu-chan yet. But he wasn't tired enough for sleep, so tucked himself into the corner of the couch with his laptop instead.

He'd been checking out the state of the housing market in Ueno – fair, considering he wasn't even looking to make a decent return on his 'investment' – when the bedroom door opened. Shizuo stared blearily at him. "I was gonna say 'sorry if I woke you up', but…" He waved a hand at Izaya's laptop.

"Ah, the information network never sleeps, Shizu-chan."

"Do you?" Shizuo dropped onto the couch with the sigh of a man three times his age, propping his bare feet up against the coffee table. Izaya wondered if he should mind, before deciding it wouldn't do much good if he did.

"When I have to." Izaya felt his smile slip a little at that admission, even if he wasn't sure why. "Couldn't sleep?"

Shizuo shook his head, arms wrapping around his chest. "I keep staring at the fucking clock. I think maybe an hour's gone by and it's been five minutes, tops."

"Ah, like waiting for Christmas morning?"

"Right…" Shizuo snorted. "Like you ever did something that normal."

"I _am_ normal. _You're _the monster."

"Whatever. And no, not like Christmas fucking morning. At least then you were getting shit you actually wanted."

Pushing the laptop away, Izaya curled onto the other side of the couch, watching Shizuo in silence for a moment.

"It'll be okay, you know."

Shizuo scoffed softly. "Fuck, I must be in trouble if you're trying to make me feel better."

"You're not listening to me." Izaya leaned closer. "It'll be okay. Whatever happens, it'll be okay."

"Shit…" Shizuo scrubbed a hand over his face. "When the fuck did you become the optimism fairy, flea?"

"Who said anything about optimism?" Izaya glanced back at the laptop, currently displaying a screensaver of a twisting, multi-coloured helix, and thought about house prices in Ueno, about the call he needed to make in the morning to the loan shark who held Nishimura's debts. He thought about the way Hayashi's eyes turned beady with greed at the things Izaya offered him. "I'm being realistic, Shizu-chan."

"I don't think your version of realistic matches the rest of the world's…"

Izaya shrugged. "That's because the rest of the world is too afraid to reach out and take what's on offer."

"Is that what you do?"

"Isn't that why it's there?" Izaya countered. "Humans are so cute, hiding behind their little masks and manners when, in reality, they'd all trample each others souls if they knew it got them what they wanted. They're just too scared to try, or maybe too scared to find out, so they never do. Never aim that little bit too high, and spend their lives complaining about how dissatisfied they are. Just a mass of fascinating contradictions, I love that about humans. They way they say one thing and think something else… As for me, well, maybe I'm their god and you're their monster, ne, Shizu-chan? But at least they can't say we don't try."

"Hmm…"

When he turned to look, Shizuo's eyes had drifted shut, his head tilted against the couch cushion. With his arms still wrapped around himself, his shirt rumpled, he looked like some overgrown kid who'd fallen asleep waiting for his parents to come home. It was all Izaya could do not to tug at one wayward lock of bleached blond hair that fell into Shizuo's eyes. It must have tickled; every now and then, Shizuo's brow would twitch and his nose would wrinkle.

Izaya sighed softly. "Didn't I tell you it was rude to fall asleep in the middle of people's conversations?"

Head canted, he shifted a little nearer, cursing the way the couch cushions moved under him. Shizuo must have been tired; not even his breathing registered the way Izaya closed the distance between them. One hand on the armrest, one on the back of the couch, he hovered above the sleeping figure.

"Heh…" The snicker was soft, barely audible. He didn't really want to wake Shizuo, just… tease him a bit. "I wonder how you'd look at me if you could, right now, hmm?"

He thought about that couple in the street again. About whispers and body language and the way the lightest touch of knees was as good for them as stripping naked and fucking on the park bench. Did that contact make them shiver, he wondered, could they still feel it long after the other person was gone?

His smile faded.

_Don't open your eyes, Shizu-chan…_

Shizuo's lashes fluttered, but his eyes stayed closed. Izaya held one index finger scant millimetres from those slightly parted lips, feeling the puff of Shizuo's breath against his skin.

Monsters had no right possessing mouths that looked so soft. They had no right being so warm, no right pretending to be this human.

No right blurring the boundaries.

At the last moment, he willed himself away from Shizuo's mouth, pressing a chaste peck to his cheek instead and pulling back before the blond could choke him for it even in his sleep.

"Good night, Shizu-chan."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 48 - 53)  
><strong>_

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.**_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Ten

Shizuo awoke feeling as if someone had folded him up in a suitcase for a week. His knees ached, he couldn't feel his feet, and he should have been cold but for the blanket that had been draped over him at some point. A golden slash of sunlight turned the rumpled material into shadowy valleys and bright hills, and despite his body's protests that warmth made him want to curl up and go back to sleep.

He'd been dreaming about something he couldn't recall now, images dissipating in a mist that only faded faster the more he tried to focus on it. Whatever it was, it'd been nice, which was a novelty in itself considering the last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Izaya prattling on about something stupid. Maybe the flea had infested his dreams too.

_Damn it…_

Wide awake now, he sat up, raking his hands through messy hair. Izaya was far too neurotic to leave his cell phones lying around. Maybe the flea actually expected Shizuo to be curious enough about his activities to give a shit, who knew. But it was just as well; if it had been sitting out there on the coffee table, he could easily spend the next couple of days staring at it, wishing it'd ring and wishing it never would in equal measure.

Maybe if he'd bribed Shinra with Izaya's money… Nah, Shinra wouldn't have left him waiting if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Creepy as he might've been, there was no disputing that Shinra was _very_ good at what he did. Hell knew, Shizuo'd learned that firsthand over the years.

And for all his weirdass faults, Shinra wasn't Izaya – Shinra wouldn't leave him sitting around for days, falling apart over something that could be resolved quickly if he only asked.

Heh. It was a misnomer, really, 'falling apart'. It suggested something painful, something sharp. It didn't fit the numbness he felt instead. His life wasn't being rent apart so much as the drifting, fragmented pieces of the life he'd known were sliding out of reach, and every time he tried to make a grab for one of them, the rest just slipped further away.

Whenever he tried to think about normal things, ordinary things, the stuff he'd taken so much for granted, he might as well have been watching one of Kasuka's movies.

He must have greeted Tom and Vorona with some generic, predictable remark at the start of the day. He must have felt pissed off at the deadbeats they dealt with and their dumbfuck excuses, he must have felt pleased at the taste of a cold vanilla milkshake he didn't have to pay for, he must have felt content that they'd gotten through another day without anyone getting hurt. He must have gone home, changed clothes, and watched TV with a passing interest while he made dinner. He must have gone to bed, lying there in the half-light of a city that was never quite dark and felt the usual competing emotions of disappointment and relief that the damn flea hadn't shown his face in Ikebukuro. He must have gone to sleep, dreamed, and woken up to do it all over again.

That must have happened. Except it felt like it had all happened to someone _else_.

That man was no one he recognized. He couldn't even remember the things that crossed his mind at the time, the idle plans, the things he'd wanted, the things he'd hoped for.

Right now, getting through the day was plenty.

Right now, this was all that defined him. A useless, hopeless fool sitting in Izaya's living room and too afraid to _think_ in case he realized that he'd never have that life back again. Fuck, maybe if he could just _accept_ that, he could find some peace. If he could get it through his thick, brainless skull that he'd let them all down by pretending he could really be something he wasn't, maybe it'd be easier to start again.

_But I don't want to start again. I just want that back._

Stupid, how it was the things he'd barely even noticed were the things he wanted back with a desperation that frightened him. Would there ever be a day he could walk into a fast food joint and order without imagining every eye in the room zeroed in on every one of his weaknesses? Without that feeling of impending disaster that made his heart race, chest tight?

If the last couple of visits hadn't been with Izaya, then he wouldn't be sitting in a plush apartment, he'd be in a six-by-eight jail cell for beating up his fellow diners. When the rage came from a place of pissed off beyond human endurance, it was one thing. Where it came from _now_…

"Hey." Izaya had poked him sharply with the straw he'd been toying with, taking a firm hold on the reins of Shizuo's wavering attention span and yanking it back into line. All the tables surrounding theirs had been empty; everyone else in the restaurant was smart enough to give them a wide-berth. Given that it was Shinjuku, not Ikebukuro, given that no one knew him and Izaya wouldn't normally be seen dead in a place like this, he had to chalk it up to the fact that even him trying to eat his lunch in peace drove people away. "Are you drinking that milkshake, or do you think if you glare at it long enough it'll become halfway nutritious?"

"Shut up." But he'd loosened the grip that warped the cardboard cup anyway.

"Ah, bad enough you make me sit in the smoking section." Izaya wrinkled his nose. "I can't even people-watch. So, if you're my sole source of entertainment while I sit here and probably absorb enough fat to kill me just from the _air_—" the straw was jabbing in his direction, held in the same grip Izaya used for his flick knife "—no running off on a murderous rampage, ne? I'd get bored if Shizu-chan left me all alone, and…" With narrowed eyes that sparkled as saccharine-sweet as the solitary cola bottle on the next table, Izaya leaned his chin on his hand and smiled. "You wouldn't like what happens when I get bored."

He didn't much like what happened when Izaya was _conscious_, but that never stopped either of them before.

"I wasn't gonna do anything," he'd grumbled, aware of the look of disgust Izaya sent him when he took a hard, loud suck on his own drink.

"You were thinking about it." Izaya watched him, thoughtfully. "But you know, these people did nothing to you. Wouldn't it be more productive channelling your anger at those who did?"

The gulp of icy milkshake went down the wrong way at that. Izaya was still watching him when Shizuo stopped coughing, still waiting for answer. He blinked at the other man with watery eyes. "Where the hell did _that_ come from?"

"Just curious. I mean, I do something totally trivial—" he waved off Shizuo's glare "—like get you arrested, and you devote the rest of your life to hunting me down. I'd have thought, given what happened and the fact it's not trivial at all, you'd be more, you know…" Izaya stabbed the straw venomously into the chipped tabletop, and Shizuo pretended the sudden action hadn't startled the crap out of him. "Kill, kill, kill."

His appetite, a fickle little bastard at best these days, vanished. Shizuo pushed away his half-eaten burger, gaze fixed on the neat little folds in its box, the intricate way it went together. "Never thought about it. I just want to forget about it."

_Yeah, and you're doing a bang-up job at that, aren't you?_

"It might make you feel better. After all, why should you be the only one to suffer?"

For reasons he couldn't quite name, he'd been expecting to see that sadistic cast to Izaya's eyes when he looked up. But Izaya had been watching him calmly, hands folded on the tabletop as if they hadn't just split the discarded straw to plastic shreds.

_Because it's better this way. Because I deserve it. Because that's what should happen to monsters, right?_

"I don't care," he'd lied instead.

"Hmm…" Izaya shrugged, reaching out to sweep up a sticky droplet of creamy milkshake that slid down the side of Shizuo's abandoned cup. He looked at it critically, the way those fancy wine buffs did when they swirled their glasses and yakked about bouquets, before sucking it off his fingertip.

The way his eyes fluttered closed made Shizuo avert his gaze, veering on the 'what the fuck?' side of mortified. "Ah, too sweet. How do you even drink this?"

"It's not that bad."

"If you're six." Izaya grimaced, still licking his lips as though the taste lingered. "And possibly diabetic."

"It's _milk_."

"One part to ten parts sugar, maybe."

Izaya kept talking at him, random crap that Shizuo mostly tuned out. It was enough, somehow, to focus on the irritatingly familiar white noise of the flea's voice to keep him grounded. He actually made it back out of the restaurant without so much as wanting to throw a table at anyone.

_If it wasn't for him, I'd…_

Crap. Not a line of thinking he particularly wanted to follow.

_You're the one using him, remember?_

Still… he picked at the blanket, suddenly claustrophobic and too warm.

There might have been a million things he didn't know, but there was one he did: that sense of respite, however brief, wasn't something he should feel with Izaya.

Izaya was no one to depend on. Izaya would just as soon rip this all out from under him as soon as Shizuo had served whatever purpose the flea had in mind. It was wrong to rely on that touch to make him feel better.

If he needed proof, he only had to remember the look on the flea's face when he stabbed that makeshift knife into the tabletop. He just had to look at Izaya's default reaction – if something made you hurt, the obvious solution was making it hurt _worse._

No… that's always been his reaction. You need to be asking yourself why it's not _yours _anymore_._

Izaya probably thought he was lying when he said he hadn't thought about it, but that only went to show how, on a level deeper than fights or insults, Shizuo had no idea how the flea's mind worked. Maybe that made sense for _him_. Maybe there was something in Izaya's soul that would be soothed by extracting revenge.

Shizuo didn't see the point. It wouldn't change a single thing. It wouldn't fix him, wouldn't bring back everything he'd lost. Besides, if Izaya was the type to learn his lesson, he'd have stayed out of Ikebukuro after the _first_ time Shizuo kicked his ass. Shizuo might not have been as smart, but he knew well enough not to make the same mistake. If this happened because of who he was, what he was, then he had to stop being that thing. Simple.

Izaya would never give up being Izaya, whatever happened to him. He loved it too much, revelled in all the fucked up things that defined him. When he looked at it that way, it wasn't as though Shizuo had to give up anything he'd cared for. It wasn't as though he was sacrificing anything important.

Izaya walked down the street wrapped content in the knowledge that nothing the world could throw at him would so much as scratch the varnish of his ego. Supremely happy with who he was, it wasn't the smirk, or the blade, or the sharp tongue that expertly deflected every barb sent his way – nothing got through because nothing _could_.

And as for him… he scoffed under his breath, watching his hands clench into fists. Turns out, he only defence he thought he had wasn't a very good one. Just a rusty armour full of chinks, and he'd known that, deep down, even while he walked around like nothing could touch him.

Until something _did_.

"Good morning, Shizu-chan." Izaya wandered out of his room, managing to manoeuvre his way across the room while never lifting his gaze from whatever he was tapping into his cell phone. It annoyed him in a totally irrational way that Izaya was such a goddamn morning person, already showered, dressed and functional enough to work when Shizuo still hadn't quite figured out how to get his feet down from the coffee table.

Shoving the blanket aside first would probably help, unless he wanted to start the day with a faceplant into glass when he tried to stand. Then again, it'd be an improvement on the way he _had_. "…Thanks."

"Hmm?" Izaya looked up. Shizuo gestured vaguely to the blanket. "Ah, no problem. I had no idea how long you'd be out here, and I didn't want to wake you up. That body of yours must be inhuman if you slept there all night." The flea leaned against the window, arms folded. "I admit, the couch cost more than the bed, but it can't be that comfortable."

Sure, rub it in. So what if Shizuo still slept in the bed he'd taken with him when he moved out of his parents' house. It was the bed he'd woken up in that Christmas morning when they got him the games console he'd longed for all year, and then proceeded to let Kasuka hog all day.

It was the bed Kasuka would crawl into when the thunderstorms frightened him and Shizuo had to pretend he was the tough big brother who wasn't fazed by anything that dumb. It was the bed he'd come home to after every stint in hospital, his abused body happy to sink into the familiar mattress.

Izaya probably picked his bed out of a fancy showroom just because it had a satisfying number of zero's in the price.

_And yet, you're not home in your own bed right now._

"Shut the fuck up…"

"Excuse me?"

He must have been half-asleep not to notice he spoke out loud. He waved Izaya's puzzlement off as he got to his feet, only to bend nearly double at the way his back screamed its dissent at the sudden movement. Apparently, weeks without trying to murder Izaya wreaked havoc on his muscles, who knew…

_Or maybe it's that every time you stretch that way you remember how much it hurt when they held you down, when they—_

Izaya watched him, amused. "Getting too old for nights on the couch, Shizu-chan?"

"Who the fuck is old?" Shizuo growled. "I'm like… four months older than you."

"Shizu-chan knows when my birthday is, I'm honoured!" Izaya clasped his hands together, lashes fluttering, and Shizuo debated how badly he'd hurt himself if he hurled the flea through the window. Very, probably, but it'd be worth it. "I'll be expecting a gift next year, you know."

"Che… if I let you live that long."

Except he wasn't getting too far in his attempts at moving, let alone homicide - _homicide, what the hell… it'd be a mercy killing. Mercy on everyone _else – so the threat fell a little flat.

Izaya sighed the sigh of those who really should know better than to expect any different and pointed at one of the chairs at the kitchen counter. "Sit."

"Why?" He couldn't tell which one raised his hackles most, the suspicion or the fact he was involuntarily doing as he was told. No… it was just that something in his head already associated that tone of voice with _fixing_. That voice was the rope he could throw around those fragmenting pieces of his life in an attempt to bind them back together.

"Why else?" Izaya pushed away from the window. There was something distinctly predatory in the slightly hip-swaying way he prowled closer, smile dark and promising. "So I can make you feel better, ne?"

"What?" Instinctively, he backed off, needing to put a safe distance between himself and something that sounded an awful lot like a cheap come-on. There were so many things wrong with that, his scattered thoughts pinballed around his head until they knocked each other out and all he could do was force a nervous laugh. "Okay, that's… pretty fucked up, flea…"

Izaya canted his head, watching him as though he was an experiment that had just done something particularly odd. "I was thinking more along the lines of a back rub, personally, but we can go with your idea too."

Oh. Well… shit.

He sat down, if only because it meant he didn't have to look at Izaya anymore. Sometimes, he thought maybe he'd actually feel better if Izaya called him on this shit. But the damn flea never did, just left him floundering and festering in his own shame like it didn't even matter much. It probably didn't, if it wasn't even worth the flea's attention.

"This'd be easier without the shirt," Izaya mused, carrying on smoothly even as Shizuo turned to argue. "But we can improvise, ne?"

He turned back to face the counter, aware of Izaya's proximity. Not that _that_ was anything new. The past couple of weeks had honed his skills to the extent he could judge how close Izaya stood by the sound of his breathing, could tell how far Izaya's hands were from touching him by the warmth of displaced air as they moved.

And maybe the suspicion that he was already inclining away from that touch wasn't his imagination, because Izaya asked, "Is this going to be okay for you?"

_No. _"Just get on with it."

"Shizu-chan's always so demanding…" Izaya murmured. "Are you like this with everyone, or am I just special?"

Bracing his elbows on the edge of the counter, he grumbled, "You're some kind of special."

"Heh…"

He flinched at the first touch. Izaya's hands remained on his shoulders, no more than resting there until he relaxed enough to lean back. He'd given up apologizing for those flinches; Izaya never acknowledged them anyway, and Shizuo couldn't tell anymore whether he meant them or not.

"This is as bad as it gets, okay?" Izaya's voice was muted, forcing him to pay attention. Before Shizuo could even ask what he meant by 'bad', Izaya's fingers gripped his shoulders, thumbs digging in either side of his trapezius.

—_and it's cold hands holding him down again, grabbing at him so hard for leverage while they fuck him that his shirtsleeve tears. He's trying to shake it off, but it doesn't work, and he can't understand why shoulders that don't even quibble anymore when he lifts vending machines five times his own weight can't shake off grubby, sleazy fingers._

And he thinks maybe he'll

never _be able to shake it, that he'll feel this touch forever, that it'll show to anyone who cares to look. He imagines it as a brand, something foul and seeping that'll never wash off even if he scrubbed his skin raw. One look, and they'll see how he failed, how he broke. They'll see, they'll know, they'll hate him the way they always should have and—_

"Breathe." The soft voice did just that against the back of his neck, the warm puff of air ruffling his hair and reminding him where he was. Reminding him where he _wasn't_. "Just breathe. You're breaking my kitchen. House rules, ne?"

He couldn't remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them again he could see how hard he was gripping the edge of the counter.

"It's just me." Izaya went on, grip loosening as it travelled further down his back, slow, firm rubs along the edges of shoulder blades that felt tense enough to snap. "I'm not going to do anything to you. You know that." The touch paused, working circles of heat into the knots in his muscles. "Don't you? Tell me you know that."

Shizuo shook his head, even as the warmth of Izaya's fingers bloomed across his shoulders, licked static at the nape of his neck. Even as his mind raced, his body wanted to lean into the touch and beg for more.

He'd fought that battle a million times. He knew the tricks it played on him. He wasn't going to lose now.

"Yes, you do." He could hear the smile in the singsong voice. "Tell me."

But he _didn't_ know that. This was Izaya. Of course he'd damn well do something, if he thought he could get away with it. He'd been trying to do something for fricking years.

"I can't…"

"I thought we were making more progress than that, Shizu-chan…" He thought maybe Izaya sighed. "Okay, then, tell me you know you're not in any danger _right now_."

Damn it, he hated the way Izaya could talk him in circles till he got the answers he wanted. Was that what all the information brokering crap was about, really? Just keep on talking until the one you're hassling has no idea what the question was in the first place.

Izaya's hands stilled, and Shizuo's muscles began to tense again in protest at the loss.

"Shit, fine…_right now_ I don't think you're screwing around."

"Good enough."

Nimble fingers resumed their work, kneading long, warm arcs from the base of his neck to the top of his arms, and Shizuo fought the urge to melt. Maybe there was something to this massage crap after all. A shame he hadn't given it much thought before – how many bad days could've been improved by a quick, covert trip to the spa?

The thought of _other_ hands on him coiled his muscles tight again, and he had to school himself to relax before Izaya noticed.

"You're thinking about unnecessary things." Izaya scolded anyway, stopping his ministrations long enough to tug sharply at a lock of Shizuo's hair. "Stop it. Just focus on this."

Shizuo was too taken aback by the action – _did he really just pull my hair? Did I really just let him, without wanting to punch him in the face?_- to argue.

Not that arguing was high on his priority list when knuckles dug into the back of his shoulders, and Shizuo could've sworn someone just cut his strings; the release of tension trembled all the way to his toes. He didn't even know why he was still upright when he was pretty sure someone'd stolen his bones when he wasn't paying attention.

"Where'd you learn to do that, flea?" Even his voice sounded lazy.

Izaya did it again, and Shizuo had to bite back the groan that rumbled in his throat. "Ah, there's no end to my talents, Shizu-chan. Though if I'd known you'd like it so much, I'd have done it earlier."

His head felt heavy, lolling forward as Izaya's thumbs tracked their way down his spine, rubbing small firm circles along the vertebrae. The touch never went lower than the centre of his back, never breached the flimsy barrier of his shirt, but as good as it felt, he almost wished it would.

…_What the hell? No I don't._

Unbidden, that image came back to him, of Izaya stabbing the straw into the restaurant table with malicious glee.

Izaya could whip the blade out on him now, and Shizuo's scattered wits wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it. As though the lesson needed beating into him all over again, he'd let warmth and words slither in past his defences, let them sucker him into dropping his guard. He'd been dumb enough to think he wasn't in any danger, wasn't vulnerable in the slightest, at the mercy of the man who'd rejoiced in fucking up Shizuo's life six ways from Sunday since the day they met. The man who thought the power Shizuo detested was a big fricking joke.

None of this was real. Izaya didn't want him fixed. Izaya just wanted what he'd _always_ wanted – front row seats to Shizuo's self-inflicted self-destruction.

Izaya's hands were motionless on his back in a silent question, and Shizuo's body obviously hadn't caught up with his head, because every nerve felt as though it was still trying to forge new connections just to link back to that warm touch. The pressure increased a little as Izaya leaned forward. He heard the quiet, hesitant intake of breath, and _knew_ he didn't want to hear whatever Izaya had to say.

_I can't want that. I can't want _this.

He pulled away so fast, he knocked the chair over as he stood. It clattered to the floor, and Izaya had to step back to avoid a smack to the shin. If there was anything comical about it, he might've laughed at how surprised Izaya looked, still with his hands outstretched on thin air.

"Shizu-chan?"

"Don't do that anymore." He backed up, afraid to take his eyes off Izaya for a second in case he came too close. "I… just don't. It's enough…"

"Okay," Izaya shrugged, sounding far too amiable. "That was probably a little out of your comfort zone, and—"

"You can stop doing that, too." Shizuo scrubbed a hand through his hair, aware that his skin still tingled like it wasn't quite satisfied. "Stop fucking talking like you know this first thing about what I want."

"You want this all to go away. You want who you were back again." Izaya watched him with undaunted eyes. "So do I. Is it so wrong that we both get what we want, for once?"

"Is that _all_ you want?"

Izaya laughed a little, but not before but not before the defensiveness in the set of his shoulders answered for him. He returned to the living room, attention rapt on his cell again. "What else could I possibly want with you? Don't flatter yourself, Shizu-chan. I just want something worth killing."

"Right…" Fishing his battered cigarettes from his pocket – damn things didn't survive a night on the couch in much better shape than he did – he plucked one out, perching it between his lips as he turned for the door. Weird, how thinking was easier the more distance he put between himself and Izaya, like his very presence was some kind of jamming signal for common sense. "Y'know, I don't give a shit what you're up to. But if you expect me to just play along, you're gonna wind up disappointed."

Just before the door closed behind him, he heard the light, skittering sound of the flea's laughter.

"Ah, you won't disappoint me, Shizu-chan. You don't have to worry about that."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 54 - 61)  
><strong>_

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.**_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Eleven

Just when he thought Shizu-chan couldn't get any more entertaining, the beast surpassed his expectations.

Izaya had never seen it at such close quarters before, the way Shizuo worried so hard at the wrong end of the stick. What, exactly, he was making up in his head about the situation didn't particularly bother him – this was Shizuo, there was no way he'd come to the _correct_ conclusion – but in its own way it was almost as fascinating as the way humans thought. They, at least, were right sometimes.

Shizuo, on the other hand, didn't seem to think _at all_. As in everything else, Shizuo was pure instinct. He knew, gut-deep, that Izaya was up to something – and fine, maybe that part was true – but the details weren't important. In his simple head, Izaya planning something equalled something _bad_, automatically.

_Even now, you're still not willing to trust in that one percent, ne…?_

Ah, he might have pushed too soon, but it didn't matter. Once Shizuo realized how much better he'd feel with the source of his problem eliminated, he'd see Izaya was right, and this whole off-kilter deviation could end.

It might be for the greater good of Izaya's world, it might be for the sake of rebalancing his universe, but it didn't mean Izaya had to _like_ any of it. He didn't have to _like _the way the blond took up space in his apartment, helped himself to Izaya's food, woke up late and left all the towels in the bathroom hanging unevenly. He didn't have to like coming home late to a lighted apartment, the television on and someone there to acknowledge his return with a grudging "Hey."

He certainly didn't have to like the way it upset the equilibrium of his carefully constructed life. He'd worked so hard, so long at crafting it to his specifications, maintaining that perfect distance between himself and the fascinating, but ultimately tainted world around him. He'd worked so hard, so long at keeping Shizuo from tearing it down, from trampling clumsily over his efforts. Who was he to just barge in, pay no attention or respect to the way everything was _before _he showed up? Who was he to wreak a mile-wide hurricane path of damage through not only the streets of Tokyo, but everything Izaya had worked for?

_You're the one who invited him,_ a pedantic voice in his head reminded him. For some alarming reason, it sounded an awful lot like Shinra. _He might have knocked the house down, but you're the one who opened the garden gate._

Whatever. Bored now…

Shizuo hadn't permitted any touching since that incident, but Izaya was confident enough to order in proper massage oils for next time. Whether sandalwood and lavender soothed the savage beast remained to be seen, but he hadn't expected much anyway give the circumstances. Surely a brain like Shizuo's couldn't focus on two important things at the same time. Protozoans weren't known for multitasking.

He wasn't so pleased with the way Shizuo had taken to avoiding _him_ wherever possible, not just the touching. He had no idea the amount of cigarettes the blond got through in the space of seventy two hours, but if Shizuo's lungs weren't wrecked before, they were now.

There'd been precisely one conversation that consisted of more than monosyllabic grunting.

"If it's…" Shizuo had been staring blankly out of the window while Izaya worked. He'd almost forgotten the blond was there; the gravely words, made even more husky by excessive amounts of nicotine, dragged his attention away from the email he was typing to a small-time Shinjuku dealer who'd been looking to branch out. "If Shinra says there's something wrong, then I'll leave."

Izaya looked up from his laptop. "What for?"

Shizuo shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. "It might be, y'know… dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Izaya laughed softly. "Pretty low on the sliding scale of dangerous for us, don't you think? If it makes you feel better, I'll disinfect everything you touch."

"It's not funny."

"No, it's not." He agreed mildly. "Either way, you don't have to leave."

Shizuo shook his head. There it was, that bull-headed stubbornness Izaya knew and loathed. "No. I mean, all this'll be a waste of time then anyway, right? It'd probably be better that I can't touch anyone…"

Couldn't be touched, but Izaya didn't think the semantics were worth the fight. "Playing the martyr already, Shizu-chan?"

A sharp caramel gaze glared his way. "It's called giving a fuck about other people, flea. I know that's kinda confusing for a selfish bastard like you."

"Selfish, hmm…" Izaya turned his attention back to his work, smiling to himself. "Isn't what you're doing the most selfish thing of all, Shizu-chan?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Well, you're not protecting other people, are you? You're protecting yourself. This'll be just another convenient excuse so you don't have to try."

"Who the hell isn't trying?" He really did jump at the hands that slammed onto the surface of his desk, making his laptop wobble. He hadn't even seen Shizuo move. Good to know some of those old skills remained, albeit a little awkward from lack of use. "What the hell do you think I've been doing, putting up with you and your games?"

"Being smart enough, for once, to realize you have no other choice." He'd shut down the laptop screen, both to save it from potential carnage and in case Shizuo tried to read his mail. Then again, Izaya'd been to school with him – he wasn't a hundred percent certain Shizuo could _read_. "Look, there's nothing wrong with making use of all the options at your disposal-"

"In your world, maybe."

"—and yes, you were running a little low on options, but I don't see why it's a big deal." Chin propped on one hand, he'd reached the other across the desk, one fingertip touching the back of Shizuo's hand. A couple of weeks ago, that insolent little gesture would have earned him a split lip and a splintered desk. Now, it took Shizuo a moment or three just to snatch his hand away. "I'd use you, if it was the other way around, Shizu-chan."

"You'd use everyone, flea." Shizuo laughed humourlessly, backing off. "Sad part is, you don't even get why that's a problem."

"No," he agreed, opening the laptop again and returning to work. "That's because you've spent so long trying to be human, Shizu-chan. You've forgotten your place, and theirs."

It was cute, the way Shizuo obviously thought that the sound of a slamming door, followed by stomping footsteps heading down the hall to the elevator, counted as the last word. It just went to show that any old brute could fight, but it took skill to argue. Skill Shizuo, with his impulsive, heart-on-sleeve, foot-in-mouth recklessness, painfully lacked.

Hayashi, being the prize idiot he was, called demanding to meet him the day Shizuo expected the call from Shinra. Shizuo, obviously, had been especially moody all morning. Really, Izaya was glad for the excuse to get the hell away from him for a while.

"I have to go out," he said flippantly, handing Shizuo the phone Shinra would call only after wiping it clean of any other contacts. "It's important."

"Whatever. You'd only drive me crazy hovering here anyway."

"I think I'm allowed to hover all I want in my own home." He shrugged into his jacket, checking his other cells. There were other calls he was still waiting on, Shinra aside.

Honestly. Was he the only efficient businessman left in this city?

But something made him hesitate at the door. When he looked back, Shizuo sat on the edge of the couch, hands steepled, gaze fixed on the phone. He'd sit like that all day, as devoted and hopeless as an abandoned dog waiting on its master's return.

He was curious, that was all. It'd be a pity to waste the chance to observe the way a beast reacted in such circumstances. It'd satisfy him to see that the shortening gap between Shizu-chan's inhumanity and the distinctly human fragility was only Izaya's imagination.

"Shizu-chan..." He walked back over to the couch, picked up the phone and programmed one other number into it. "That's my other cell. If Shinra calls..."

His mouth didn't want to form the rest of the words. And, after all, why would Shizuo bother telling him? Izaya wasn't important. He could see the conversation playing out now, Shinra cajoling Shizuo to leave, to come and stay with him and Celty just so he could add to his collection of monsters. Of course Shizuo couldn't stay with that asshole Izaya, it wouldn't be good for him. He'd probably come back to an empty apartment, either way.

Shizuo just took the phone from him with a shrug. "Understood."

Izaya had no idea why that irritated him as much as it did. If snatching the phone back and erasing the number wouldn't be supremely immature, he'd have done it in a heartbeat.

He didn't like this. Any of it…

Moron he may be, but Hayashi was also dumber than a post. He'd wanted to meet at an Ikebukuro hostess club, citing his preference for conducting business "where I can watch hot chicks at the same time." Izaya suspected, just from one meeting, that paying for them was the only way Hayashi could get said 'chicks' to look at him twice.

Sad.

Mid-afternoon, and the club wasn't busy. A couple of foreign girls made a beeline for him as soon as he walked into the room, which said a lot about Hayashi's taste in clubs. If they were working legally, Shizu-chan was a rocket scientist.

Hayashi himself was happily ensconced in a booth, surrounded by two other girls. Izaya brushed off his own admirers as Hayashi waved him over.

"Ain't this place great?" The flush already creeping up Hayashi's face said that he'd already run up quite a tab, or that he really _was _excited to be sitting between two bored, overly made-up women. From the stench of their perfume, Izaya couldn't even tell what Hayashi had in his glass. The colour suggested some kind of dish detergent, and the umbrella sticking out suggested the man who ordered it was a loser.

"Ah, you know how to live Hayashi-san," he slid gingerly into the booth, "I'll give you that."

"Damn right." Hayashi's stare lifted briefly from one of the women's cleavage. "Go ahead, order whatever you want, my treat."

"I'd rather get down to business. After all, we're not all as lucky as you, Hayashi-san, able to relax and enjoy yourself like this in the middle of the day." Izaya shook his head, feigning a sigh. "Besides, I'm already in your debt, ne?"

Looking a little disappointed, Hayashi waved the girls away. Izaya figured he'd done the poor things a favour – he couldn't tell _exactly _where Hayashi's hands went when they ducked under the table, but he could guess. Sometimes, humans were just… crass.

"Heh, how's that workin' out for you?" Hayashi leaned his elbows along the top of his seat, and laughed. "I asked around about that. If we'd known so many people wanted to take that guy out, we coulda made a fucking mint!"

"You could have sold tickets." Izaya smiled, plucking the wilting umbrella from Hayashi's drink, twirling it between his fingers. The cocktail stick was still sharp enough, despite being soaked in alcohol the colour of a supernova. It would probably still work if he rammed it into Hayashi's jugular. The smile turned a little wry. No, that wasn't his style. He set the umbrella down, folded his hands. "I doubt many people in this city would blame you for it."

"Yeah, that's what I heard. Supposedly he's some kind of big deal," Hayashi scoffed, "but you ain't no big deal if you bend over and scream like a little girl. Dunno why no one else did it before. Heh, maybe we're just better than those Ikebukuro fuckers, huh?"

"Oh, no doubt. Can I ask you something, Hayashi-san?" Izaya leaned conspiratorially close, voice lowered. "What did he do to drive you to those lengths?"

"'Cause no one gets in the way. Takahashi wanted in on Ikebukuro turf." Hayashi rolled his eyes. The action wasn't exactly smooth, belying the fact that the glass in front of him probably wasn't his first. "Y'know, like that little shit knows his ass from his elbow. Ask me, he and Nishimura shoulda stayed in Ueno where they belong. Me an' Satou just got our asses dragged in 'cause we'd been doing some y'know… freelance shit for the Wakahisa. Anyway, we're kinda getting into it, beating up these Ikebukuro punks, when this fucking _butler _breaks it up. Heh," Hayashi took a swig of his drink, almost snorting it through his nose. "I thought he was a host! And I don't even give a shit, really, but no way is some fuckin' prettyboy telling us what to do."

It was a good thing he'd declined a drink, Izaya decided. He'd probably have choked on 'prettyboy'.

"So, you decided to teach him a lesson, ne?"

"Only after. Takahashi wouldn't shut the fuck up about it, wanted to come back to deal with it seeing as this brat had screwed up his big shot." Another roll of the eyes. Clearly, Takahashi was no longer on Hayashi's Christmas card list. "Nishimura still had some of the shit he'd been hawking for the Wakahisa, but fuck… I've seen guys who're the size of sumo wrestlers go down with just a shot of that crap, this guy…" Hayashi whistled low. "Took fucking forever, and he never did go totally under. He was still snivelling and begging like some schoolgirl all the damn time. Fricking disgusting. You ask me, there's something wrong with a fucked up bastard like that. Ain't normal."

"Ah, they do say he's not even human, you know."

"Heh…" Hayashi grinned, showing crooked teeth. "Trust me, kid was human enough, if you know what I mean."

Izaya didn't even think he _wanted_ to. He was still a little blindsided by the desire to _rearrange _Hayashi's teeth. Maybe send them somewhere into the bastard's intestines, for a start.

"Don't get me wrong, I wasn't into it or nothin'. Gimme a hot pussy any day over some dirty piece of ass." Hayashi's gaze slithered back over to the girls waiting by the bar.

"Oh, of course. You seem a man of impeccable taste to me."

"Yeah. 'Sides, they say he ain't been around for a while." Hayashi laughed, a smug, braying sound that had Izaya's fingers twitching with their longing to reach into his pocket for the knife. _How well can you laugh with your throat cut, I wonder?_ "Maybe he's dead, huh?"

"Ah, could be…" Hayashi didn't know how right he was. Oh, maybe not physically dead, but in all the ways that mattered, all the ways that had defined their lives up till now… that Shizuo was all but gone. "Could be. It'd certainly be convenient, ne? For you and for me."

"And now you're workin' for me." Hayashi smiled smugly. "I asked 'bout you, too. They say you're good."

Making a mental note to find out who would talk about him _at all_ to the likes of this idiot, he withdrew a folded slip of paper from his pocket, sliding it across the table.

"As we discussed, ne? I think you'll find this man very reliable. He's been working in Shinjuku, but he's just as eager as you to take advantage of the, ah… relaxed atmosphere in Ikebukuro recently."

Yeah, so relaxed he could picture Shiki-san developing new frown lines even as he spoke. One day, Izaya might have to consider offering an apology for even insinuating the man was as inept as he made him out to be.

Ah, Shiki would understand. After all, this was business.

"It'd be a shame not to exploit the gap in the market, right Hayashi-san? The supply lines to Ikebukuro have become quite disrupted of late. Everyone's chasing their own tails. With this, you have the upper hand. Undercut them a little to bring in the custom, and…" he smiled, inclining his head towards the girls. "They'll be the ones flocking to you."

"You really have the Awakusu in your pocket, don'tcha?" Hayashi took the paper. "I still ain't sure about this…"

"Ah, I wonder. It's true to say they take my information seriously. And, conversely, if I tell them I don't know about something, well… It doesn't exist. Like a ghost, ne, Hayashi-san?"

Hayashi shuddered. "Don't talk about fucking creepy shit. Can't stand that stuff…"

Interesting…

Izaya stood from the booth, noticing that Hayashi didn't waste much time in waving the girls back over. Nice guy. So polite.

"Ah, stay in Ikebukuro long enough, you'll get used to that sort of thing Hayashi-san." He shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled away from the table, out of earshot – as if Hayashi was even listening to him anyway. "In your case, it might be for the best that your stay'll be brief."

* * *

><p>He'd been at the train station when his cell phone rang. Too lost in his thoughts – most of which still involved stabbing Hayashi with the cocktail stick umbrella until the bastard stopped <em>smiling<em> like that – he couldn't remember which ringtone matched which phone.

_What if it's—_

He'd reached into the pocket of his coat a million times, but even his muscle memory didn't help; the haste with which he made a grab for the phone he could feel vibrating sent it tumbling from his pocket, skidding away across the platform.

"Ah, so clumsy~!" He beamed at the woman who almost stomped on the phone with her heels – wouldn't _that_ be irony at its finest? – as it came to a spinning stop right in her path. "I'm _so_ sorry."

It wasn't Shizuo, and Izaya let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

_Damn it. _

He didn't recognize the number. Flipping the phone open, he answered with a cautious, "Can I help you?"

A voice he didn't recognized addressed him by the alias he'd used to get in touch with Nishimura's creditors.

"Ah…" He relaxed a little, pretending his heart wasn't still rattling louder than the trains shuttling by. "It's good to hear from you, Mochizuki-san."

He'd done a little homework on this guy, too. From all accounts, he could've done with a collector like Shizu-chan scaring the shit out of his clients. Until recently Mochizuki had been content – and wealthy – enough to sit back and pretend he was some self-styled father figure, helping out the hapless. After one of his businesses went belly-up last month, however, he was looking to sell off anything that wasn't nailed down. Luckily for him, Izaya was about to take one of his worst clients off his hands. Unluckily for Nishimura, he was going to find out that his new creditor wasn't quite as… _patient_ as Mochizuki.

"Do you even know how much this guy owes me?"

"Hmm, last I checked, just short of twenty million." Nothing special, in the scheme of things. Izaya's apartment cost over twice that much. The difference was, he wouldn't be stupid enough to put it up as collateral for a loan he'd foolishly doubted would be called in this decade.

That these idiots got the better of Shizu-chan continued to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He was smarter than this, damn it. Why hadn't anything _he'd_ done affected Shizuo this way?

Ignoring the fact he knew full well why, he turned his attention back to Mochizuki. "I'd be happy to throw in a generous administration fee, Mochizuki-san, if that would guarantee your discretion in this matter."

Oh, Mochizuki would be discreet. After all, he was on the other side of the fence now. Humans had a tendency to keep quiet when people were after _them_ for money.

He hung up after extracting a promise that Mochizuki would send over the relevant documents – "Ah, no, on second thought Mochizuki-san, I'll have my courier come and pick them up." – and boarded the train. Even though he knew it wouldn't ring while he was on the move, he still wrapped a hand around the other phone. It was about damn time they extended the signal to the trains, he could get so much more work done that way…

He still couldn't chase Hayashi's words out of his head. Every time he replayed them, his mind embellished it a little just to spite him. The volume of Hayashi's laughter, the smugness of his smile. The way he'd leered when he said "Trust me, kid was human enough, if you know what I mean."

_I don't want to know. I don't want to _think _about him like that._

Because monsters didn't scream, or beg, or cry. They didn't break from something that insignificant. They didn't. They _couldn't._

He was still thinking about it when he got back to the apartment, but he schooled his face into bland neutrality. Bad enough that he had to see Shizuo after the conversation he'd just had. Worse if Shizuo _noticed_.

As he'd predicted, Shizuo was still where Izaya left him a couple of hours ago. Izaya kicked off his shoes, hung up his coat, and sauntered over to the couch. Shizuo shied away when he thumped his hands on the back of the couch and said brightly, "So, no news is good news?"

"Your important crap didn't take you long." Shizuo raised a brow.

"Ah, some of us are just that good, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo's grunt didn't sound complimentary. Turning his gaze back to the phone, he shrugged a little. "I was thinking—"

"Oh, that can't be good."

The glare Shizuo sent him was half-hearted. "Anyway, I… Sorry. About the other day."

"Hmm?"

"I was just…" Shizuo's hands scrubbed through his hair. If Izaya looked closely, he could see the dark roots growing out. He tried to imagine a dark-haired Shizuo. A Shizuo that blended in with the rest of the world. No, it'd never happen. Like venomous bugs wore bright colours to warn off predators, there'd still be something about the beast that betrayed its inhumanity. The hair was just temporary decoration. "You got me thinking about shit I didn't want to. It's no excuse, but…"

"Thinking about what?"

"The shit you said about being pissed off at the right people."

"Ah…"

Not exactly a discussion he felt confident having today. Not when he could still hear the echo of Hayashi's braying laughter, could still see his hands pawing at the hostesses.

The thought of those hands on Shizuo…

"_He was still snivelling and begging like some schoolgirl all the damn time. Fricking disgusting."_

He felt that umbrella in his hands again, the feel of the wood grating under his fingers like nails on a chalkboard. Saw Hayashi's leering smile. Wanted to tear it to pieces with his bare hands.

_You have no idea what 'disgusting' is, you vile, pathetic excuse for a human…_

His fingers clutched so hard at the back of the couch, his shoulders ached.

No… he really didn't like this _at all_

Fortunately, Shizuo wasn't even looking at him. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped, he worried at his thumbnail with his teeth. "You know, you were right. I do just want it all to go away. And maybe…" he gestured towards the phone. "Maybe it's never gonna go away. Maybe I'm doing this all wrong, and it's just… ah, shit, I don't know. I mean… what if it's not just me, y'know? What if… you do that sort of thing once, I bet it gets easier to do it again."

Izaya didn't care what happened to anyone else. They were none of his concern. Trust this so very _human _monster to worry about other people who'd just as soon kick dirt in his face as thank him for it. What would he do if Izaya told him, word for word, how Hayashi described him? What expression might he make? Would it be enough of a catalyst to change this increasingly irritating status quo?

"So what do you want to do?"

"…I don't know." Shizuo shook his head. "I keep thinking I should… I don't know, have better answers than the ones I have."

"Well, what answers _do_ you have? It's a place to start, ne?"

Shizuo was silent for a long moment. Izaya found himself fixating on the darkness at the base of that golden hair again.

_True colours, hmm…_

"I just… Y'know, I can think of a hundred reasons why. Bad karma, all that crap. I think I even _knew _it'd catch up with me some day, 'cause that stuff always does, and you can't tell me I wasn't due." Shizuo's tone was soft, matter-of-fact, as he clenched his hands into fists. "But y'know I still expected it to bail me out, like it always does. That's pretty fucking pathetic, huh?"

If he could have, he'd have reached out, unfurled those fists and placed in Shizuo's hands instead all the proof he needed that there were far more pathetic creatures out there. He could show Shizuo the track record of the men who'd broken him, shown him how misplaced his damned apathy really was.

_Karma? Oh, I'll make sure of it._

"Shizu-chan, I—"

They both jumped at the cell phone's trill. Izaya glanced at the caller ID, before tossing the phone to Shizuo. His fingers were clumsy enough that the aim was off; Shizuo didn't catch it with much more grace.

"Hey, Shinra…"

Izaya couldn't sit and watch. Getting up, he paced over to the window, staring out unseeing at the streets below. Life went on out there, a million disparate existences, and before this each one of them would have enthralled him enough to let him forget, to take him outside himself to a place where he was just distant, observant. They couldn't touch him, not really. He could touch them, should he choose, but he was the one dictating where the barrier fell.

Now… even the muted beep as Shizuo shut off the phone hit with the force of the blond's punches.

When he turned around, Shizuo was staring at the phone in his hands. Izaya couldn't see his eyes.

"It…" A shrug. "It's fine."

Shizuo kept talking, in a voice that sounded as though he hadn't used it in years, saying something about Shinra advising another test in a few months and something to do with ninety-six percent plus accuracy. Izaya stopped listening after 'fine'.

He'd have turned back to the window, except he already felt like he was falling, and that sensation in front of a high-rise plate glass window didn't seem wise.

It's fine. It's fine. Normal was still somewhere within his grasp. He could still make this right, he could still make it like it was before. He could put that distance back between himself and this mess.

Shizuo looked up, then frowned. "The fuck is wrong with you?"

"I…"

Nothing, right? This was everything he wanted. This meant he could _get _what he wanted. He was back in control. The plan was back on track. The vermin would pay. Shizuo would be fixed, and Izaya could get rid of this damned nagging paranoia that something wild and violent – typhoon Heiwajima, ne? – had just crashed through his life.

"Fuck…" Shizuo reached for his cigarettes, giving Izaya a look that no sane man would mess with. "Make me go out on the roof now, and I'll throw you off it."

Sitting down next to the blond, Izaya said nothing. Shizuo must have taken silence for acquiescence. He heard the click and flare of the lighter, and a few moments later the way Shizuo blew out the smoke on a quiet, content sigh. The smell of smoke, acrid at first, softened into something else, a warm, cloying scent that made him think of cherry wood burning in the fall. If it was possible to wrap yourself up in a scent, he thought he might try with this one.

_It's not the cigarettes._

"Dunno why it bothers you so much," Shizuo said quietly after a while. "Wouldn't it work out fine for you if I just kicked the bucket?"

No, it wouldn't. Not like that.

He felt the way the smile tugged at his lips, but it was mechanical as a robot. _This is how you smile. This is how you move your face. You don't have to feel truly happy at all. Fake it. That's easy enough_"It'd be pathetic if something like this did you in, ne, Shizu-chan?"

Shizuo snorted softly. "It'd be something, that's for sure…"

"See, this is why you need to stop this, too." Izaya picked up the cigarette packet, turning it over in his fingers. He could feel the dents in the cardboard from the way Shizuo always held the box as he tapped one of the sticks out. He fitted his fingers against those grooves, eyes narrowed. "I absolutely won't tolerate anything but me killing you, do you understand?"

"Oi, flea…"

"And if you are stupid enough to get yourself killed, I'll have to bring you back just so I can kill you properly. Don't expect me to go easy on you, either, if you're that stupid…" The cigarette packet blurred and wavered. He blinked hard, blaming the way his eyes stung on the smoke. "If you're…"

"Flea."

Wrong, that it was Shizuo's hand reaching out to cover his, hesitant and jerky. Wrong, that sensation jolted up his arm at the contact, as though he'd just grabbed onto a live wire. Wrong, that he wanted to uncurl his grip from the box, and furl in into those strong fingers instead.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"_Ask me, there's something wrong with a fucked up bastard like that. Ain't normal."_

He dropped the carton as though Shizuo set its contents alight at the same time, snatching his hand out from under that touch as he got to his feet.

_I don't lose my own games, Shizu-chan. Not even to you._

"Ah, we should celebrate, ne?" He headed for his laptop. For something familiar, something safe. He didn't want to face the silence. "What do you want? My treat. Ah, but within reason, all right? I can't have you getting used to luxury after all, not with the way you live."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" He fired up the computer, pretending he had no idea what Shizuo meant. Damn the stupid idiot for noticing all the things he shouldn't. Damn him for sounding as though he had answers to something even Izaya didn't understand.

_I'm the observant one, Shizu-chan, not you._

Shizuo shook his head. "Forget it. And keep your money, I don't want anything. I just got something I didn't even deserve."

"Ah, your loss then." Izaya slammed shut the laptop. He'd worry about abusing his poor, unassuming technology later. "If you insist on being that boring, I'm going for a shower to get rid of this horrible cigarette smell. You'd better have put that out and opened the windows by the time I'm done."

He wouldn't be done for about six hours, if he had his way and his hot water lasted that long. Maybe by then, he'd stop feeling the way Shizuo's eyes felt on him as he crossed the room, that amber gaze he absolutely refused to acknowledge heavy and expectant.

_You'll be waiting a while, Shizu-chan…_ he smiled wryly, closing the bathroom door and leaning back on it. _I don't even know what you're waiting _for.

He took a deep breath. Shower. Shower was a good idea. It wasn't just the smoke clinging to his clothes, his hair, his skin. He wanted to scrub off the association with Hayashi too. He wanted to wash away the whole day, if he could. Most of all he wanted to wash away the growing awareness that Shizuo, somehow, knew more than he did.

And he almost got away with it. His hands were just on the hem of his shirt, about to tug it off, when the knock came at the bathroom door.


	12. Chapter 12

_Why are you guys so awesome? Thank you _so_ much for all the feedback so far *hearts* _

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 62 - 70)  
><strong>_

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.**_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Twelve

As the bathroom door slammed shut, Shizuo knelt to pick up the cigarettes Izaya had dropped. One stick slid halfway out of the packet, but he had no inclination to light it as a replacement for the one smouldering low between his lips.

Maybe the flea had a point. He had kinda just dodged a bullet, and indestructible didn't necessarily mean there was nothing that could do him in. It just meant he hadn't found out what it was, yet.

Once, his ambivalence about that might have caused him concern.

Pushing the cigarette back into the packet, he shoved it in his pocket. He'd been overdoing it lately. Cutting back wouldn't be a bad idea, probably. Extinguishing the cigarette butt in the sink with a wistful sigh, he crossed the room to open the window, breathing in a lungful of much healthier Shinjuku traffic pollution.

Tch. That crap'd kill him before anything else did.

His gaze flicked to the bathroom door again.

_Or maybe you will, huh? If you had your way._

At their best, Shizuo's thought processes were hardly lightning-quick. For the most part, his life was a series of gut reactions, and those, he'd found, didn't require much in the way of thinking. No analyzing, no joining the dots, no working shit out the way Izaya or Shinra seemed so fond of that they created their own damn problems while normal people pretended theirs didn't exist. Generally, as long as they stayed off his radar, Shizuo didn't much care what made humans, or monsters, or any goddamn thing else tick.

He figured he'd spent long enough just trying to understand himself. Just trying to fathom why. Why him? Why this cursed strength? Why wasn't he enough to control it? Why did everyone end up hurt?

Why bother holding back at all?

No… after all that, humanity's motivations for the crap they pulled could go jump in a hole. Shizuo didn't care. He didn't _know_, despite the world's blithe attempts to piss him off by expecting he should. He didn't know anything, and he'd always tried telling himself there was comfort in that. It wasn't as though all those idiots rushing around looking for reasons and explanations looked deliriously happy because of it. From what he could see, answers just raised more questions, and thinking too hard just made him angry. Probably because he wasn't good at it; he'd heard his intelligence brought into question often enough for it to sink in. Maybe he wasn't clever enough to be a doctor, or to manage a shadowy spider-web of intricate schemes, but sometimes he thought he was smart enough, at the very least, to know his place. To know better than to bother trying when it was all futile, anyway. Human, monster… who the fuck cared? He knew the important shit. He knew all the things he'd never have, all those normal things that weren't for the likes of him.

So he'd quit wondering. Quit hoping. Told himself he was okay with the hand he'd been dealt.

He'd slipped, when he'd been shoved to his knees of that cold concrete. Slipped, and found himself trying to work out why. Not why him – they hadn't drugged him enough for that – but why he'd been so stupid, why wasn't he fighting, why he couldn't tolerate just that little bit of pain himself in lieu of all the damage he'd caused.

And now, he was slipping again.

"_Why do you do that?"_

Granted, his coherence was still a little sluggish. It ground to a near-halt around the time Shinra said, "No, everything came back fine, and—ow! Celty, you know I couldn't tell you before I told Shizuo! Patient confidentiality, it's… hmm, what's that? Ah, Celty says she's very relieved, Shizuo. Are you sure I can't analyze your blood? I'm sure it'd be—ow!"

He'd spent the past few days in a haze. He'd spent the past few hours rehearsing a reaction to words Shinra didn't say, and in between, checking his watch to gauge how long he had to make an escape before Izaya came back.

For once in his useless life, maybe Izaya was right; maybe he was selfish, but he'd been thinking this was his mess, his ass on the line. He'd been thinking that, whatever happened, the relief or despair would be his. No wondering, no hoping. Just doing what he always did – try to keep the world at a safe, tolerable distance for its own sake.

And okay, so he wasn't the smartest guy in the world, but even he wasn't that stupid. He wasn't blind, not that it would have mattered – even with his eyes closed, he'd have heard the flea's voice. He'd have heard the way it shook, even as it chewed him out, the familiar taking on the uneasy, twisted edge of the unfamiliar.

No one got upset over him. No one. And definitely not the flea.

Even a fool could see there was something else going on, something that didn't gel with all the bullshit Izaya'd been feeding him over the past few weeks.

Before he could think better of it, he strode over to the bathroom door, rapping his knuckles against it.

"Open the door."

"I can't." Izaya's voice didn't sound muffled by water or distance. He sounded like he was right on the other side of the door. "Shower, remember? Shizu-chan's so rude…"

"Tch, bullshit. The water's not running."

He heard a soft thump, followed by a louder one right about head height. One hand in his pocket, idly curving his fingers around the battered cigarette packet, he leaned the other forearm on the doorframe. The very picture of casual. Yeah, right. As if anyone approached Orihara Izaya with anything less than mild apprehension.

Usually Shizuo approached with street furniture. That never turned out so well…

Besides, he was dumb enough to want answers, and beating them out of Izaya hadn't worked yet.

"What do you want?"

"To not do this through a door, for a start." Because it was next to impossible to tell if Izaya was lying when the damn louse was looking you in the eye. Maybe Shizuo's judgement was shot to hell; it didn't mean he wouldn't take every advantage he could get. "I could just kick the door down, y'know."

"But you won't." Even through inches of wood, Izaya sounded superior as shit. "You have to use this bathroom too."

"Or I could just go home."

"All right," Izaya said agreeably. "I'll see you around, Shizu-chan."

_Damn it. _

His fists clenched, pulse fluttering in his throat as he tried to swallow. An unfamiliar and thoroughly unpleasant flare of panic coiled tight around him, making it hard to breathe.

It wasn't like he hadn't tried. Part of him wanted to get the hell out of here the moment Izaya left earlier that day. He didn't owe Izaya a goddamn thing; he was under no obligation to report back on the minutiae of his day. And if Shinra had called with bad news, he'd told himself that fuck if he was staying to face the flea. He was past caring anymore whether it'd be pity or malice in those gleaming eyes – he didn't want to see any of it.

Except he couldn't even visualize himself walking out of the door, let alone down to the lobby, out onto the street. He couldn't see himself on a train, or hailing a cab. He couldn't see himself walking back into his apartment alone, couldn't stand the idea of looking around the sparse, claustrophobic space and seeing the remnants of a life that had ended three weeks ago.

He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to be by himself with a man he didn't know anymore, a man he didn't trust, couldn't control, even less than before. It rammed nails into the coffin of his wounded pride to admit that he felt safer with Izaya than he did with _himself_, but damn it…

_Better the devil you know, right?_

So he didn't know the details of Izaya's scheme, he could still suss out that one existed. When it came to himself, when it came to going back to a life he barely recognized…

It must have been the relief making him loose-lipped, an endorphin high shortening the gulf between brain and mouth that wasn't particularly generous to begin with.

"You know your offer, before? Well, I've changed my mind. I do want something."

"What?" There was a strange, sharp edge to Izaya's voice, and it just jabbed sticks at Shizuo's ire; why the hell did the flea sound like he was the one who should dread the answers, huh?

"The truth."

Silence. He forced himself not to fill it with another threat. Izaya wasn't the type of guy who could tolerate long stretches without the sound of his own voice.

He was duly vindicated, but only after he'd counted to ten in his head a half dozen times.

"Oh? I wasn't aware that I'd been deceiving you, Shizu-chan."

"There's shit you're not telling me. Same thing."

"Actually, that's quite the moral dilemma, you know." Louder now, as though he'd turned to face the door, Izaya's voice was conversational. "Humans argue about it all the time; are lies by omission really lies?"

"You're doing it again. That… evasive crap you pull. Won't kill you to give someone a straight answer." In Izaya's world, that statement probably rang hollow. Maybe the damn flea was so used to playing the world against itself he'd forgotten what truth was. Izaya was nothing if not a walking, breathing survival instinct. He'd be the last thing standing if the bomb fell, hands as unsullied as ever as he skipped over the rubble. It'd be commendable if it weren't so damn annoying. "It's no fucking wonder no-one trusts you as far as they can throw you."

"Well, you'd know that, ne?" The door unlocked with an anti-climactic click, hinges swinging open smoothly without a sound. Seriously, a guy like Izaya needed a more dramatic apartment. This sterile, hollow place didn't suit him at all. "I told you, Shizu-chan. I have no interest in killing you as you are now. That's the truth."

And maybe it was; as distracted as he looked, Izaya didn't appear any happier at that disclosure than Shizuo. Usually, the flea enjoyed his lies a lot more than that.

"Not all of it. I know you. I know you're playing with my head. I just haven't figured out what you think you're getting out of it."

"What about you? You're talking as though I'm holding you here by force. The door's never been locked, Shizu-chan. I even gave you a key, remember? Obviously you're getting something out of this arrangement too."

Maybe he was, but he was starting to lose sight of _what_. When all he seemed to do was second-guess Izaya, a losing battle if there ever was one, it didn't leave much room for anything else.

The second he thought he had a grasp on Izaya's tactics, they switched. One second, it was nothing but a warm, undemanding touch dragging him back from the brink, and the next it was cold, insidious suggestions. If Izaya was trying to keep him on edge, he was doing a bang-up job of it.

And if Izaya really _was_ just building him up just to watch him tear himself, and everything else, down…

"Are you…" No, it wasn't a request, and he didn't need to make it one. "If you're trying to instigate shit to get me to go after them, then—"

Izaya laughed out loud. Shizuo didn't think it was that damn funny. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"I don't know what you're doing. That's the fucking problem."

"Ah, Shizu-chan…" The laughter faded to an impenetrable smile. "Never stop being your protozoan self. I don't know what I'd do for free entertainment if you did." Izaya leaned against the doorframe, regarding him with a cool, assessing look. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he could hear the gears turning in that sly mind. "I have no intention of instigating anything. You've told me, several times in fact, that you don't want to do that."

"And… what, that's it?" Shizuo frowned. Doubtful didn't quite cover it… "For the first time _ever_, you suddenly do what I tell you?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" Izaya laughed again, a silky, slippery sound that grated on Shizuo's nerves as though it was a brush of barbed wire. Dropping one shoulder in a shrug, he began to elbow past, apparently abandoning the shower. "Look. You're here to deal with your issues, ne? So we'll just—"

"My issues? My issue right now is _you_."

As though reacting to an ancient instinct, the one that made him chase every time Izaya ran, he reached out, catching the flea by the upper arm and dragging him back. Red eyes flashed in timeless warning as he pinned Izaya back against the hallway wall, one hand curved against the base of his throat, and it was so close, so fucking stupidly close to _normal_, to _before_, that it hurt.

Whatever surprise flickered in Izaya's eyes was soon replaced by a secretive, calculating expression. Lips twisting into a faint smirk, he wrapped both hands around Shizuo's wrist. The touch didn't exert enough pressure to push him away; it was just there, a warm, insolent reminder in every minute, rhythmic brush of Izaya's fingers that it _could_.

And for a wonderful, empty half-second, he couldn't remember why it couldn't.

Izaya looked up at him, arched a brow. "But see the progress you've made?"

_Shit…_

He let go of Izaya, stumbling back against the opposite wall. Sapped of whatever adrenaline rush had compelled him to start this conversation in the first place, he sagged against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. Hands scrubbing roughly through his hair, he couldn't bring himself to look up.

"…Sorry."

Izaya crouched next to him. Shizuo only saw the shrug in the way Izaya's hands, draped loosely between his knees, shifted. "I'm not. Like I said, it proves what we're doing is working. Besides, better me than one of your friends, wasn't that the whole point?"

"Don't make excuses."

"I'm not…" Izaya ducked his head, making sure Shizuo couldn't miss the way he smiled. "That was almost like old times, ne?"

It was. Him pissed as hell, Izaya smarmy as shit, belligerence and derision dancing steps they both knew in their sleep by now. Whatever else happened, that never changed.

It hadn't felt that way with anyone else. Celty, Shinra, Tom, Vorona… it felt as though something had shifted, now the thin mantle of normal slipped away. His fault, really, for pretending in the first place, for showing them an illusion he knew he'd never be able to sustain. But the longer it had held together, bound together with a desperation that put his physical strength to shame, the more he'd grown to believe he could really get away with it. They'd never need to see that the thing behind the curtain wasn't the guy they envisioned.

Izaya tore the curtain away on the day they met. There was no need to pretend. He'd never have to wish Izaya saw him as better than he was, but he'd never have to be afraid of having his insecure disguise ripped away either.

_No wondering, no hoping._

The more he thought about it, the more fucking _perfect_ that sounded…

"Come on…" A pale hand extended into his line of vision. "Let's get out of here for a while. You've been staring at the walls all day, it's bound to drive you a little crazy."

He hadn't really thought about it. Before, he hadn't really minded being on his own. Izaya always kinda struck him as one of those people who couldn't stand the stillness of their own company for long. There had to be something going on, something to manage or control.

Refusing the outstretched hand, he didn't push it away either as he stood.

"Fine. But you're still paying." And when his pride couldn't even stagger to its feet long enough to put up a fight, he didn't feel too bad about it. "Not like I even get paid anymore."

"That's hardly _my_ fault."

"Not this time. You still owe me for all the other times."

"Protozoan logic." Izaya nodded. "Okay, but in exchange we're going somewhere _I_ want to go. If I see one more burger, I think I'll choke. Ah, I know…" Shizuo thought he probably should have argued harder, because that look in Izaya's eyes was never a good sign. "I'll take you to my favourite restaurant in all of Shinjuku."

* * *

><p>It wasn't so much a hole-in-the-wall kind of place as a sliver. Tucked away on a Shinjuku side street so narrow the power cables hung lower than the ornamental streetlamps, its proprietor saw fit to litter the restricted expanse of concrete with mismatched flower planters, and Izaya only saw fit to warn him <em>after<em> Shizuo almost tripped over them. It wasn't quite dusk, but there was more light coming from the sign advertising the club next door than anywhere else. Maybe those plants thrived on neon, because no natural sunshine reached this place. There was a used DVD store on the other side, and with arms' reach on the other side of the street, a grubby looking establishment with a rusting, industrial door under a bright red awning simply bearing the notice 'Members Only Entrance'.

Of all the glamorous restaurants in Shinjuku the flea could no doubt afford, this was his favourite place?

Inside, the windowless room was a dark, low-ceilinged hallway, a counter running along one side and booths clearly intended for midgets on the other. Well, fleas were kinda small…

The staff obviously knew Izaya well enough to just wave him to one of the farthest booths, deep in the bowels of the room where the only light came from burnished wall sconces that were probably meant to say 'elegant flickering lamplight' but in reality just screamed 'migraine'.

"I can see why you like it so much. It's got shady deals stamped all over it…"

"Actually," Izaya slid into the booth, "I like it because it doesn't. I never conduct business here. In fact, I've never brought anyone here. It's good to keep things separate sometimes, ne?"

"I guess." He picked up the menu, just for something to do with his hands. Usually he'd reach for a cigarette, but if this was Izaya's favourite restaurant _ever_, then of course it'd be a non-smoking one. "Kinda blurring the boundaries now, though, aren't you?"

When he glanced up, Izaya was staring at his own menu as though it had called his parentage into question. Maybe they'd taken his favourite food off the menu…

"Well… you're hardly a regular client, Shizu-chan." Izaya smiled carelessly, but his eyes never lost that razor-sharp glint. "You don't count."

Shizuo snorted softly. "Thanks."

They ordered their food – Shizuo from the simple, inexpensive side of the menu, Izaya making up something elaborate and obnoxiously specific – and the waiter left them alone again. Huh. Sushi without a side order of Russian interrogation worthy of Vympel. Made a change.

"Never had you pegged for somewhere so… ordinary."

"Ah, but that's just it, it's far from ordinary, Shizu-chan." Izaya sipped his water, smiling at him over the edge of the glass. "You need to stop judging everything by their outward appearance. I mean, one look at the place, and it's 'ordinary'. One look at me, and it's 'I don't like you'."

"Well I don't." Shizuo glared at the tabletop, because the only other thing to glare at was currently licking a drop of water from the side of his glass with a stupidly lascivious sweep of his tongue. What the hell was with the flea and that… oral fixation of his?

"I'm just saying it wouldn't do any harm to put in a little ground work first, ne?" Izaya shrugged. "I think their secret is that their delivery couriers would put even the Headless Rider to shame. No one else in Shinjuku gets their fish delivered from Tsukiji faster."

How did the flea even know all that? Shizuo tried to imagine him sitting here, engaged in enthusiastic conversation with the owners, charm turned up to ten. Oh, he still remembered Izaya from high school for more than the urge to kill, that was for sure. He still remembered the bastard could probably talk anyone into anything, if there was something to gain from it. What could be gained from the inner workings of a tiny sushi restaurant, he had no idea.

"Or maybe you're just not as flashy as you like to pretend, huh?"

"Having good taste doesn't equate to flashy, Shizu-chan. It just means I only pick the very best."

The food arrived, and Shizuo was glad for the break in conversation. Trying to keep up with Izaya and conduct a conversation with words instead of threats and missiles was more exhausting than fighting with him.

Despite himself, and despite the fact he probably wouldn't really know good sushi if it kicked his ass, he had to admit the food was good. It must have been, when his appetite seemed to surpass Izaya's. The flea only pecked at his ootoro, as though it had sounded far more appealing on the menu.

"It's nice that we can be civil, ne?" Izaya watched him curiously, in between cutting away neat slices of tuna that he didn't eat. "Is this new, or are you usually like this when you aren't trying to mangle innocent people with road signs?"

"Who's fricking innocent, now?"

And yeah, that was the best deflection he could manage. Because he had no idea. Wasn't as though he was as obsessed with everything he did the way Izaya was.

He'd never understood what the fuck made him such tempting flea-bait. His strength, probably. The way he hadn't fallen under the louse's spell the way everyone else did. Tch, for all he knew, Izaya took exception to the colour of his sunglasses. He'd write it off, say that Izaya probably didn't need a reason, except that Izaya needed a reason for _everything_. Izaya was all about answers, and Shizuo was happier not knowing. He'd have been happier not knowing what the fuck Izaya wanted with him, if the damn flea ever backed off long enough for him to stop wondering. Endless fricking persecution wasn't exactly conducive to sating a guy's curiosity.

He didn't like being curious. He especially didn't like being curious about the flea. It felt wrong. Kinda like the thought of dogs talking, or something. Fine on the surface, but seriously screwed underneath it all.

But Izaya made it his business, by sheer dint of singling him out for the brunt of his attention. Izaya wanted him wondering. Wanted him paranoid, and guarded, and ready to snap at a moment's notice, just because it was entertaining.

"It'll be good when you're better, ne, Shizu-chan?" Izaya pushed the remnants of his meal around his plate with his chopsticks, rearranging it then breaking the pattern apart again. "When you're worth killing again."

"Why are you still so fucking fixated on killing me at all? Hate to break it to you, flea, but neither of us have been too damn successful at that."

"Ah, but I don't think Shizu-chan tries very hard."

"Tch… I guess that means you have been trying, right? That's… kinda pathetic. Cause I couldn't tell. At all."

"Well of course not. As if anything could get through that thick, monstrous hide of yours. No, Shizu-chan requires special handling."

"You say shit like that and you expect me to believe everything you're doing is innocent and above board?"

Abandoning his plate entirely, Izaya sighed as he leaned back in the booth. "Did _nothing_ I said earlier sink in? Really, Shizu-chan, I knew you were dense but this…"

Shizuo arched a brow. "Not dense enough that I can't see a total diversion tactic when I see one."

"Or when one pays for an extremely expensive meal in an attempt to expand your Neanderthal food horizons? So unappreciative, Shizu-chan…" Izaya smiled strangely, face upturned towards the lamplight as though it was sunshine. Shizuo's taste in restaurants ran to the kind where there was always background music, piped-in pop idols or musak, and enough chatter going on around you that if you didn't want to talk to your dining partner, you weren't left feeling like an idiot. Izaya's, clearly, didn't.

"Look…" he began after a while, unsure where he was going with it because he had no idea what he'd done wrong. Wasn't distrusting Izaya, kinda… par for the course?

"I was relieved." Izaya interrupted softly, still watching the flickering glow of the lamp. "I was relieved," he repeated, more emphatically this time, like Shizuo needed convincing, "that's all it was. Like I said, it would really put a dent in my plans if something else got to Shizu-chan before I did, ne?"

"I… okay." Except it still wasn't, because _whatever _the reason, relief implied Izaya gave a shit about something other than himself, even in the smallest way.

"I've invested too much time for pathetic things to take you down." Izaya's gaze slid back to his, and for a second Shizuo swore they flickered with a fire far more real than the one the lamps tried to emulate. "It's natural I should be glad I'm getting my way, don't you think?"

It sounded so plausible. Likely, even, considering it was Izaya. How many times had he told himself now that Izaya only ever really did things for Izaya. There was no reason he shouldn't believe it; Izaya certainly didn't have a whole lot to gain by confirming he was a self-centred asshole.

No reason, except the way Izaya looked at him that afternoon. Nothing except the way his voice shook. Nothing except the way he'd done what he always did, ran the fuck away, only this time for some reason it wasn't a game anymore for Shizuo to chase him down.

And maybe that was something he was better off not knowing.

"Yeah," he said. "That sounds right to me."

* * *

><p>On the way back, Shizuo, being the uncouth heathen he was, insisted on stopping for a milkshake. "Take out. You won't have to breathe in the fat for very long." Actually, Izaya didn't mind in the slightest. Better Shizuo have his mouth occupied with mind-numbing amounts of sugar than with more of his stupid questions…<p>

Not that listening to Shizuo suck the ever-living daylights out of his milkshake did much to clear his head.

It might have been better if Shizuo had left; Izaya certainly felt as though distance would help him regain control.

_Yes, because you're doing such a stellar job at pushing him away…_

Ah, it was just the product of a stressful day, he decided. Between Shizu-chan spending it on tenterhooks and Izaya spending it with sleazeballs, no one would blame him if his thinking derailed a little.

Back in the apartment, Shizuo and his precious cargo made a beeline for the kitchen.

"Gonna put what's left in the fridge, is that okay?"

"Of course." Though he wondered, as possessively as Shizuo cradled the cardboard cup, whether he'd open the door to find 'don't touch!' scrawled all over the cup in marker pen.

Shizuo was halfway there, when the lid he'd been holding detached from the rest of the cup. Even with his reflexes, the best he could manage was to tilt the falling cup in the direction of the kitchen counter, instead of the floor.

"Ah, crap…"

Fortunately, there wasn't much milkshake left in the cup, but it still pooled across the counter in a thick, creamy puddle. Shizuo stared at it wistfully enough that Izaya was nearly convinced he'd start sucking up the mess with his forlorn straw.

"I could have sworn we had that talk about house rules, Shizu-chan…"

"You said no breaking, no smoking, so poking around in your stuff. There was never anything about spilling shit…"

Izaya sighed. "Because, to most people, the spilling shit part sort of goes without saying."

"Yeah, yeah…" Shizuo grumbled plucking some paper towels free from the roll, tearing most of them with too-rough fingers. "Like you've never spilled anything in your life."

Possibly, reminding Shizu-chan that Izaya'd been one of the very few to spill his blood wouldn't go down too well. Instead, he watched the blond struggle and curse at the clean-up effort, more milkshake dripping down his hand towards his shirt cuff than got wiped up by the towels.

And without thinking – or, maybe because he'd been thinking far too much for his own good – he'd gripped Shizuo's wrist, lifted his hand, tongue darting out to lick away the cool, sticky liquid before it could reach the edge of his shirt.

It was just the noise Shizuo made, a soft, wounded sound as though bewilderment was actually _painful_, that made him realize what he'd done.

He'd apologize, but he wasn't particularly sorry.

"Too much?" he asked instead, stepping away and reaching for a dishtowel to finish wiping up the mess. "Ah, well, it's probably good to test your limits now and then, hmm? Just to gauge how much you've improved."

He heard the sound of the tap turning on, water splashing into the sink as Shizuo washed his hands. Then, after an awkward, throat-clearing cough, "Is that, uh… a habit of yours, or something?"

Izaya looked up. "Is what a habit?"

Shizuo still held his hands under the running water, but that was all he did. Izaya half expected him to be scrubbing off the contact with bleach and a scouring pad.

"You, ah… y'know. Lick things, a lot. It's kinda weird."

Izaya couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips on a soft exhale. "Well, they do say smokers are experts on oral fixation, ne? Comes from having something permanently in your mouth, supposedly."

"Ah, is that so…?" Shizuo seemed disproportionately pleased with that half-assed answer.

"But that's very observant of you, Shizu-chan…" Izaya couldn't resist needling just a little bit more than was wise.

Shizuo scowled. "You do it in people's faces, of course they're gonna notice." Shutting off the water, he snatched the dishtowel from Izaya's hands. Izaya didn't let go fast enough, half-stumbling closer, and while he hadn't exactly planned on a trip into the blond's personal space, he couldn't help looking up with a sly smile.

"Do you _like_ staring at my mouth that much, Shizu-chan?"

"No, I…" Shizuo stared at him, golden eyes wide, body tense and rigid as he shook his head. His voice, when he found it again, was a little too breathless, a little more panicked than angry. "Who the fuck would be staring at you?"

Maybe it was just as well his cell phone rang.

Shizuo took his escape route and backed off, mumbling "I'm going to bed" under his breath as he went. Annoyed, Izaya snapped his attention back to the phone, irritation only growing when he saw who it was.

"Che… why are you even _calling_?" he muttered to himself, cutting off the call and heading downstairs. "It's not as though you can _talk_…"

The black bike was idling at the curb when he breezed out of the apartment building door. He'd used his time in the elevator wisely, willing all traces of aggravation from his face. Celty couldn't _see_ either, but he still refused to allow her to read anything but pleasant disinterest in his smile.

"Efficient as always." He traded a fold of bills for the manila envelope she held out to him. Nishimura's documents. He'd look over them later. "Well, thanks. I won't keep you, I'm sure you don't want to be late home to Shinra."

But she'd already begun tapping away at that damned PDA.

[I want to talk to Shizuo]

_I'm sure you do._ He felt his brow twitch, fingers crinkling the edges of the crisp envelope. _But if you're here to talk him into leaving, you're a million years too late._

"Ah, sorry, he's already gone to bed." He tilted his head, smiled. Unfortunately, he wasn't even lying, although he still wasn't sure what exactly he'd do about the evening's events if he wasn't. "You wouldn't want to disturb his sleep, now would you?"

Could a helmet look sceptical? Apparently so.

"It has been a stressful day for him, after all." He tucked the envelope under one arm, hands shoved in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. "Ah, I'm sure you and Shinra were delighted with Shizu-chan's good news, ne?"

[Of course we were. We're his friends. Which is why I can't understand why he's staying with you.]

"So harsh…" Izaya shook his head in mock affront. "I'm sure you've already asked him about it, right? Why not just accept whatever he told you?"

[Because he isn't thinking clearly, and you're taking advantage of that, aren't you? For something. What are you planning?]

"Planning?" Izaya arched a brow. Coming from Celty, that amount of text was close to a rant. "I don't plan, my dear courier, I do. You ought to know that by now."

[Fine, what are you doing? I know you're not helping him because you actually care about him.]

"Oh, relax. It's all in his best interest, isn't it?"

[You're concerned about his best interest? Don't make me laugh.]

"Well, technically, you can't—"

He swore that frantic tapping got jabbier, just to spite him.

[I don't know what you've said to make him stay, but don't expect me to stand back and let you hurt him.]

"Yes, yes, overly-protective threat duly noted." With a fake salute, he turned to head back towards the front door, only to be halted by more tapping. Thoughtful, this time, he suspected. Not so heedless and angry. She didn't need to go back and correct typos as she wrote.

[He shouldn't be around you now. He should be with people who care about him. People who don't spend their lives tearing him down.]

She didn't wait for a reply. Spurring the bike to life, she didn't even look back at him as she tore off into the darkness, the roaring engine taking on a whinnying note.

Just as well she wasn't there to see the frustration edging into his smile as he turned, looking up at the light shining in his apartment.

"No… maybe he shouldn't."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N - Thank you all so much for all your comments! I've stayed on LJ for the most part because I kinda like being able to **say** 'thank you' when someone takes the time to comment, but I hope you guys know how much it's appreciated. I know I have a tendency to gravitate towards plot-lines that might not exactly have mass-appeal, but those of you who do give 'em a chance regularly make my day. :D  
><em>

_Thank you also to anyone who wandered over to my Christmas fic-request post from here - I really wasn't expecting that sort of response *hearts* I kinda felt bad for closing the post, but I figure those of you who requested wanted your fics this year, at least. XD Those fics'll go up on my LJ first, but they'll be posted here soon after.  
><em>

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 71 - 80)  
><strong>_

_**NOTE : Please note that this fic will deal with the aftermath of rape (referred to in flashbacks only, the event itself happens before the fic begins), and as such may be potentially triggery. And as with all my fics, it will feature an M/M relationship (both Shizaya and Izuo), so if none of that appeals, this might not be the fic for you.**_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Thirteen

Since Shizuo had retreated to the sanctuary of his bedroom – well, Izaya's bedroom, but who was quibbling over the semantics… - Izaya resigned himself to sourcing his entertainment from the paperwork Celty delivered. That lasted all of five minutes, before he was online instead, checking for news of Hayashi's entrepreneurial debut. That confirmed – though it was only going to get harder keeping his activities from the Awakusu; he needed to wring Hayashi dry of all his information before that happened even if the thought of meeting the man again made his skin crawl – he checked the Dollars forum. Checked the news sites. Played a game of online mahjong, and lost.

Nothing quite kept his eyes from straying to the kitchen counter, where the dim light still caught the errant streaks of dried milkshake he hadn't wiped away well enough.

Nothing answered the question, what would he have done if Celty hadn't called when she did.

Che… it just went to prove how good he was, if he was starting to fall under his own spell. Good, but dangerous. He needed a reminder that this artifice was for Shizu-chan's benefit, not his own. He'd get what he wanted when everything was back to normal; everything in between was just a pretty distraction.

He must have dozed off, eventually, leaning on his desk. The next thing he was aware of was the sun on his back, and a blond clattering around in his kitchen.

"Don't know why you even have a bed." Shizuo muttered, head in the fridge. "Why don't you just turn that room into a torture chamber and be done with it?"

Izaya stretched, grimacing at the crick in his neck and the ache in his shoulders. "Ah, how do you know it isn't already?"

Arms laden with Izaya's food, Shizuo retreated from the fridge, closing the door with his hip. "It wouldn't surprise me." A silence followed the dry remark. Izaya listened to the sound of milk being poured, eggs being broken before Shizuo spoke again. "It's gotta be cramping your style though, all this."

"Hmm?" Slipping Nishimura's documents into the desk drawer, he stood. "Well, I have had to cancel a couple of wild parties." He shook his head when Shizuo's gaze snapped up from his breakfast. "I wonder if we can work some sense of humour lessons into your therapy…?"

"Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know what you get up to?" Shizuo took his frustration out on the eggs, rendering them less scrambled, more massacred. "I'm not the pervert who keeps tabs on the entire world."

"I'm not a pervert, Shizu-chan. It can't be perversion when it's love."

Shizuo snorted. "I don't think that word means what you think it means, flea."

"Oh?" Izaya leaned on the counter, watching Shizuo's hands as they worked. "Then what do you think it means?"

Those same hands faltered a little, before gathering their composure, moving slower and surer than before. "I know what it _doesn't_ mean. It doesn't mean making people suffer just 'cause you find it fascinating as shit."

A droplet of omelette batter splashed onto the counter. The whole thing would need to be scrubbed clean anyway, so Izaya didn't feel too bad dipping a finger in it, drawing random characters on the glossy surface. The one for humans. The one for love. The one for monster.

"But isn't it true that you always hurt the ones you love? Love _is_ suffering, ne?"

When he looked up from his doodling, Shizuo was watching him with the strangest expression in his eyes, partway pity and partway 'are you kidding me?'

"In your pseudo-philosophy 'I'm too good for this crap' world, maybe. In the real world, it's more about doing every damn thing you can to keep someone from suffering."

"But that's just it. You'd hurt others to protect your dear ones, wouldn't you? If someone were to threaten Kasuka-kun, for example, you'd hunt them down without a second thought."

"Damn fucking straight I would."

"So someone still suffers for your love, don't they? From where I stand, my love is much more egalitarian. Fairer," he amended, when Shizuo's eyes all but glazed over. "Mine's an equal opportunities love."

Except it wasn't, anymore, and it was all Shizu-chan's fault.

"Who the hell ever said love was fair? That's why it's love, right? That's why it's one step up from like, which is about a million steps up from what you do. You just get off on that shit like a kid with bugs under a microscope." Shizuo calmly spooned a mess that might have been an omelette before it turned to mush onto a plate, as though discussions like this at the breakfast table were nothing special. "But that kid has no fucking idea what it's like to be a bug, he can stare at them all he wants. And you can observe your fricking humans all you like, you still won't ever know what it means."

The accusation in that matter-of-fact tone made him bristle. As if he should listen to lectures on humanity from a beast.

"Ah, maybe not. But at least I can blend in better, hmm?"

Leaning back against the counter, shovelling in his food as though he hadn't eaten in weeks – and as though the last thing he ate wasn't some of the best sushi in Tokyo, the brute… - Shizuo shrugged. "Probably. But they'll see through you, too, in the end."

_That's fine. As long as _you _never do._

"So grumpy this morning, Shizu-chan. Didn't sleep well?"

"Slept fine." Apparently something on Shizuo's plate demanded his undivided attention. "I'm not the one who still has keyboard marks on his face."

Izaya's fingers instinctively shot to his cheek, frowning at the suspiciously square shaped indentations. Wonderful. He thought he heard the protozoan snicker a laugh as he stalked off to the bathroom – the bastard better have left him some hot water, because nothing else short of a clothes iron would get rid of those marks.

In the steamy confines of the shower, he let his mind wander back to the problem at hand. Which, he noticed, to his mortified dismay, was figuring out a way to keep his _hands_ from wandering, which would be a problem in itself. Turning the heat down in an attempt to encourage his body to join him on the same page, he mulled over his options.

None of which involved cornering Shizu-chan in the kitchen again, just to see how he'd react to Izaya finding out first hand just how orally fixated he was. No, that was a one-way trip to Shinra's, with concussion at best. Besides, it'd be a moment's instant gratification that would undo weeks of hard work.

It wasn't worth it.

Nishimura would be at a meeting with the Wakahisa all day, Izaya knew. He'd hacked into the man's schedule – the password was his daughter's name; it was so cute he could puke – so it might be a good day to check out his new investment. A good day to meet Nishimura's wife and child, and prove, if only to himself, that Shizuo's deluded view on the way humans loved was horribly skewed. It would be a useful card to play, later on, if he could show Shizuo the sweet, deceived family Nishimura hadn't given a second thought while he drugged and raped a stranger.

_Is that love too, Shizu-chan? Will you try to tell me he was only trying to protect his family, or will you look at them as pitiful victims too? What side will your definition of love take there, I wonder._

When he came out of the bathroom, Shizuo had cleaned up the kitchen and was back in his favourite spot in Izaya's apartment. As much time as he spent on the couch, Shizuo was going to take root.

_Speaking of roots…_

"Hmm…" Leaning on the back of the couch, he reached out to tug at a lock of Shizuo's hair. "You'll need to fix this soon. Don't make a mess of my bathroom when you do, all right?"

Shizuo batted his hand away. "Yeah right, you think I do this myself?"

"You don't?"

"In the beginning I did. Figured out pretty damn quick that there's a _reason _they pay people to do this stuff."

The image of Shizuo, awkward and ungainly, at the hair salon was priceless. What did all those housewives think of him, Izaya wondered. He was still entertaining himself with visions of the fortissimo of Ikebukuro in one of those floral capes – no, leopard print or something equally tacky, that'd suit him better – ensconced under a dryer and glaring pure death at anyone who dared look his way.

"Anyway…" Shizuo went on, ignoring Izaya's intermittent giggling. "I was thinking I'd just let it grow out."

"Why?" The remark was so unexpected, Izaya didn't even have time to mask his surprise, all amusement fading.

On reflection, it was a pretty stupid question. It was obvious why. The hair represented that other Shizuo, the one the blond – well, mostly blond, now – thought was lost to him. The one who deserved the karma that came his way. The one who'd brought this all on himself. The one who was dangerous. The monster.

"I don't know… maybe I'm just getting to old to look like this."

"_I thought he was a host!"_

"But this is Shizu-chan, ne?" Izaya reached out, playfully flicking a strand of hair from shadowing Shizuo's eyes. "You have to give others fair warning, remember?"

"Yeah, well…" Shizuo didn't flinch, didn't push his hand away, but he did lean away from the touch. "Maybe it's better to lay low for now."

Maybe I want to be someone else.

_Too bad, Shizu-chan. I won't let you._

"Anyway, I was thinking about something you said yesterday. If you're still mad at me for thwarting those high flying career choices of yours, I might have a job offer for you. Well, for the day anyway."

Shizuo's frown was wary. "What kind of job?"

"Ah, don't worry Shizu-chan, I wouldn't ask you to do anything too taxing. Actually, this should be right up your alley. I need to go and have a little chat with a man who owes me money, and I need a threatening guard dog to stand there and look scary. You know, just to ease the proceedings."

"Since when're you into loan sharking?"

"It's a recent interest. So? It might make you feel better, like getting back on the horse ne?"

For a moment, he thought the blond was going to refuse. But then Shizuo sat up a little straighter, as if someone just tightened his strings, and nodded.

"Yeah, why the hell not?"

* * *

><p>Just after lunch – one that Shizuo, in his negotiations of the day's pay, insisted was another trip to the fast food place and paid out of Izaya's wallet – found them in the seething mass of humanity that was Shinjuku station. Fortunately for all concerned, most of that seething mass saw fit to give Shizuo a wide berth.<p>

Usually, Izaya viewed the station like an endless buffet, or like one of those restaurants that allowed you to choose your own lobster before they took it out back and killed it. The entire cross section of humans was here, from the homeless man sleeping on a bench to the elite businessman grumbling at his Rolex when his train was two seconds late. Relationships began and ended, temporary or permanent.

Today, he was just watching Shizuo. Well, it was in the interest of safety, after all…

"Where're we going?" Shizuo peered up at the boards and timetables, doing a surprisingly good job of acting relaxed.

"Ueno."

Shizuo shook his head. "You've got your claws in everywhere, haven't you?"

"I go where my services are required, Shizu-chan." Izaya pretending to buff said claws on his jacket, earning a scoff. "No business survives by becoming stagnant, you know."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that. Damn fleas don't fricking stay still long enough for someone to squash 'em, let alone get stagnant."

Shizu-chan was remarkably well behaved on the train. Even when it stopped at Ikebukuro station. It wasn't crazily busy, and Izaya herded him straight to a corner of the train car where he wouldn't be jostled by anyone else. The blond's body language – back stiff, hands clenched, eyes squeezed closed – betrayed his discomfort at being hemmed back in a place with no means of escape, but now and then when his eyes cracked open, he seemed to relax when he could see where Izaya was.

Or, more specifically, where he _wasn't_. It had never been wise to sneak up on Shizu-chan, but these days it was just asking for trouble…

According to the street maps on his cell phone, the house was somewhere northwest of the park. They could have cut through the park itself from the train station, but Izaya chose to take the road that passed the museums instead. Come on, it was _far_too tempting to goad Shizu-chan with that than some shrines and a zoo.

And it was far too unpredictably predictable for Shizuo to glance at the first of the museum buildings, shrug, and say "I think I came here once in middle school."

"Did you break anything very old and expensive?"

"Nah. I think I broke my arm in a fight on the way home, though."

Now _that_ he could picture.

"We should go to the zoo on the way back. It'll be good for Shizu-chan to see what he might evolve into, some day."

"Tch…" Shizuo pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I hate seeing things in cages."

Izaya paused, letting the blond lope on a few more strides without him.

Of course he'd hate that. Shizuo's nature was wild, uncontrollable. That instinctive rage wasn't meant to be contained. When it ran free, it was a terrible, beautiful thing to watch. Even when it was aimed his way, Izaya had never denied that.

So why, then, did Shizu-chan insist on cocooning himself in a matryoshka doll of cages within cages? Did he feel safe in his self-imposed chains, was it easier to pretend he was human that way? Or maybe he didn't even realize he was doing it, so conditioned to want to be something _lesser_, as though he could deny his true nature through sheer willpower.

He wasn't supposed to find monsters this fascinating.

Shizuo stopped when the street branched out, looking back at him over his shoulder.

"Oi. Hurry your ass up. You're the one who knows where we're going."

Izaya laughed a little, coat swinging as he picked up the pace.

_Oh, Shizu-chan, that's about the only thing I_ don't _know._

The house was tiny. Izaya tipped an imaginary hat to the photographers on the last real estate sites that listed the house – they'd certainly made it look far more impressive than it was. A western style door was set into a redbrick façade, and the only substantial window in the front of the house was the one above the empty carport.

Curtains twitched in that window when he rang the doorbell, then a muffled "Coming!" before a distorted shadow moved on the other side of the frosted glass. The woman who opened the door smiled breathlessly, hefting the child in her arms a little higher so that she could smooth back strands of hair escaping the loose ponytail. "I'm so sorry, this one was causing trouble. Can I help you?"

Hanako Nishimura.

He'd only seen one photograph of the woman before, dated five years ago, at least two years before the child clinging to her mother's sweater was born. He'd been curious then, what compelled an ordinary woman like this to get involved with the likes of Nishimura. Likely she didn't know, or turned a blind eye to most of it. Humans' ability to selectively filter their world always fascinated him.

"Ah, Nishimura-san? I'm a business associate of your husband's, and I was hoping I could speak to him today about a very urgent matter." Bowing deeply, he retrieved one of his fake business card from his pocket, presenting it formally. Hanako shifted the child onto one hip as she took the card, glancing at it doubtfully.

"He never mentioned you, Nakura-san…"

"Really?" Izaya feigned disappointment. "He talks about you all the time. And about how adorable his Megumi-chan is, of course."

The child giggled at the mention of her name, and Hanako seemed to relax. After all, how dangerous could a strange young man be, if he knew the name of their only, precious child?

Sometimes, Izaya thought his humans were so stupid, they even managed to take him by surprise. No mean feat.

"Well, he's not home right now but he should be back soon. Would you like to come in and wait?"

He could feel Shizuo's glare burning like a laser into the back of his head, even as he smiled brightly. "We'd like that, thank you!"

Hanako ushered them inside, closing the door on a dark foyer that would have been cramped even without three people, one of whom was a blond who invariably took up more than his share of space.

_How does it feel, Shizu-chan, setting foot in the lion's den?_

"Please make yourselves at home." Hanako led them up the short flight of stairs to a small living room, Megumi peering at them over her shoulder the whole way. "I'll go and make some tea."

"Thank you, Nishimura-san."

It didn't look like the house of a guy who dealt in experimental drugs for a yakuza group.

If he didn't know better, he'd think that there had to be a swanky apartment somewhere else, complete with high-maintenance mistress. No, Nishimura just didn't handle his cash well. There were debts with almost every loan shark in the neighbourhood, though nothing as dramatic as the one he'd had with Mochizuki. None that wrote this poky little hovel off as a risk he was willing to take.

It didn't look like the cluttered, chintzy living room of a man who was capable of holding Shizu-chan down while he and his friends raped him, either, but Izaya knew better than to judge humans by their environment. Sometimes there'd be hints of the creature inside, but more often than not the trinkets and accoutrements were as much of a disguise as anything else.

He glanced at Shizuo, taking a breath to calm himself. Hanako, when she returned with a tray bearing a teapot and some cups, seemed to be much too interested in Shizu-chan too.

"Do you work with my husband too, um…?"

"No," Izaya interrupted, sending Shizuo a 'play along, you idiot' smile. "Hanejima-san is just a friend of mine. We happened to run into each other when I was heading this way, I hope you don't mind?"

"Oh, no, not at all." Hanako smiled. "I always make too much tea, I'm glad it won't go to waste."

As she turned around to pick up the cups, Shizuo looked at him, brow raised, and mouthed "Hanejima?"

Izaya shrugged, and mouthed back "It's easy for you to remember."

Hanako turned back, offering an alarmingly fragile cup and saucer to Shizuo, who looked up, taking it with a gruff "Thanks". Izaya noticed he went out of his way to make sure his fingers only held the parts of the cup Hanako herself wasn't touching. She smiled at him, that eyes-closed, hands-clasped smile of the thoroughly smitten. Izaya bit back the scoff, gripping his own cup hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Shizuo remained oblivious to both of them, busying himself with a sip of his tea and his 'anywhere but here' expression.

She wouldn't be the first woman reduced to schoolgirl giggling in Shizuo's presence. Izaya had even used it to his advantage once or twice in the past. Back in high school, there'd been the odd follower or two lured in by "Oh, sure I know Heiwajima. Maybe I'll introduce you, ne?" Really, he should never have entertained them if they were dumb enough to be interested in Shizuo, and it was only fun until he realized Shizuo was too dense to notice they'd even made the effort in the first place. It wouldn't be too long before they stopped mentioning Shizuo at all, but, evidently, it irritated Izaya as much now as it did then. It was beyond him, really; if this was what women went for these days, Namie's obsession with her brother seemed almost normal in comparison…

How would Hanako feel, knowing she was sitting in her living room sipping too-weak tea with the man her husband raped?

Izaya entertained himself as he listened to her small talk, imagining her face crumbling, her wide eyes glittering with tears, the things she'd say if he told her. There'd be denials, no doubt. Nishimura was a good man, a good husband and father, a provider. Of course that disgusting monster she'd just been flirting with must be lying! He probably held a grudge, and wanted to make up lies to damage Nishimura's good name, and—

"Pretty!"

Everyone looked up at the same time: Izaya annoyed at having his fantasy disrupted, Hanako a little embarrassed, and Shizuo, the recipient of Megumi's frantic pointing, bewildered.

"Pretty," Megumi said again, shifting shyly towards Shizuo, and Izaya found himself in the unfamiliar position of being utterly conflicted. Part of him wanted to sit back and observe, catalogue and analyse the way Shizuo reacted to the child getting into his personal space. Would the monster be able to differentiate a threat from a child's mere curiosity in his current state? Was there a switch somewhere that would make Shizuo hold back, or would Megumi's age and innocence be little protection in the face of that inhuman anger?

And part of him didn't want _anyone _touching Shizu-chan, not even a three year old who, the closer she got, seemed to be more enamoured with Shizuo's sunglasses than Shizuo himself.

Fortunately, before he had to dwell on it, Shizuo canted his head curiously at Megumi's outstretched hand. "These?" He glanced down at the glasses tucked into his shirt pocket, the lenses bright against the white fabric. "You like these?"

Megumi nodded. "They're a pretty colour."

"Megumi-chan," Hanako scolded softly. "Leave Hanejima-san alone."

"Ah, it's fine…" Shizuo plucked the glasses from his pocket, holding them out to the little girl. Megumi giggled with delight, putting the too-big glasses on and running off to admire herself in the mirror in the hall.

Hanako smiled, utterly won over now even if she hadn't been before. "You didn't have to encourage her like that."

"Ah, it's okay…" Shizuo rubbed the back of his neck, stare fixed on the floor. "I have a kid brother, I remember when he was that age, so…"

While Shizuo watched Megumi, and Hanako watched Shizuo, Izaya watched her. Watched her toy with the sleeve of that shapeless sweater. Noticed the way the cuff rode up as her thin fingers clutched at the fabric, and the ugly yellow of old bruises decorated her arm.

Maybe that was why they gravitated towards Shizuo, the broken looking instinctively for a protector.

_Too late. He's already too broken himself to help you, even if I let him._

Out in the hall, the telephone rang. Hanako stood with a polite "excuse me", tugging down the sleeves of her sweater with self-conscious speed, and left to answer. Izaya turned his attention to Shizuo, watching the blond with a broad grin until he was impossible to ignore.

"What?"

"Ah, nothing. It's just cute how good Shizu-chan is with children."

"Shut the fuck up… I've had to deal with you long enough, I should know how to handle immature brats."

"Ouch." Izaya smiled, setting his cup down on the coffee table. "But children can be so careless, ne? So self-centred, wilfully ignorant, thinking the world revolves around them alone… What if she breaks them?"

Shizuo looked at him, shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I should probably find different ones anyway."

Another attempt at erasing the man he used to be.

Hanako appeared in the doorway, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, Nakura-san, that was my husband. It seems he's been delayed and won't be home for another hour or two. You're welcome to wait, but…"

"Ah, no we've imposed on you enough." He stood, shaking his head. Probably wise to get out now, before a suspicious Nishimura cut his meetings short. "I can try again some other time."

"Here, you should take these back before Megumi hides them." Hanako held Shizuo's glasses out to him.

Shizuo began to dismiss it. "No, it's—"

"Thank you." Izaya ignored him, taking the glasses. Hanako's recollection of a blond haired man who was surprisingly good with kids was one thing; Nishimura would expect his debt collector to have some street punk working the muscle for him. It was still too soon to be leaving something this distinctive behind.

Besides, he wouldn't let Shizu-chan just throw away these fragments of his identity like they didn't matter. He wouldn't let Shizuo erase the monster that easily.

"And thank you for your hospitality, Nishimura-san. I hope to see you again next time I drop by, hmm?"

"Oh, of course." Hanako's smile flitted back and forth between them. "You're welcome back any time."

He almost got away with it.

He hadn't noticed on the way in, probably because the small table by the door faced inwards. He hadn't noticed the photograph in the middle of it, showing the happy, smiling Nishimura family. All three of them.

He hadn't noticed. But Shizuo did.

In hindsight, he should have been better prepared. It might have been a better idea to scope out the house alone first, in case Hanako was the type who'd put up a two by six portrait of her husband in the living room.

When he looked up, Shizuo's face was ashen, jaw clenched tight. His hands vibrated with tension as he reached out, but his fingers curled into a fist before ever touching the frame. Breathing hard and deep, he half-turned towards Izaya, eyes radiating livid betrayal.

"This is…" he jerked his head towards the frame, voice so low it was barely even forming words. "_His_ house…?"

Hanako watched them cautiously. "Hanejima-san? Is everything okay?"

"He's fine." Izaya beamed, stepping in Hanako's path before she could come any closer. Behind him, Shizuo barked a savage laugh, wrenching the door open and storming out. "Thank you again for the tea."

Shizuo hadn't gotten very far. At the end of the Nishimuras' street, he'd stopped to lean against the brick wall of a storage unit, hands braced, head bowed. His shoulders trembled in erratic little spasms, and Izaya approached tentatively, half-afraid the blond was about to throw up.

He didn't. Neither did he look up as Izaya came nearer.

"So that's why you wanted me to tag along…"

"I don't know what you mean, Shizu-ch—"

"Don't." Shoving away from the wall, Shizuo loomed close, every quick exhale stabbing sharp, hot needles against Izaya's mouth. "Don't fucking _lie_ to me. I know I'm a goddamn idiot, but I'm not that stupid."

"I didn't lie. He owes me money."

"Yeah? Since when? Cause either you just set me up…" Shizuo looked at him with a twisted, embittered smile, "or you really _were _in on it from the start. Which lie d'you want me to buy this time, huh?"

"_What_?" Okay, where had that leap of protozoan logic come from? "I had _nothing_ to do with it, you know that. You said you knew that."

"Yeah. I told myself you weren't gonna pull shit like this, too, but hey… here we are. Shit, what if he'd been there? Did you want to see me tear the bastard apart in front of his wife and kid, huh? Would that be _entertaining_ enough for you?" The blond wheeled away, and Izaya couldn't help but flinch at the ferocity with which Shizuo slammed a fist into the wall, leaving a neat crater and a shower of dust. "I asked you for the truth, and you thought it'd be fine to feed me more of your bullshit?"

The helpless desperation in Shizuo's voice almost made him regret the position he'd taken. For a second, he was back in his bathroom, willing his heart to slow while he listened to that rough plea through the door.

_The truth? I'm trying to fix you, Shizu-chan, because nothing's right while you're like this and I hate that..._

"Not here, hmm?" He glanced back at the Nishimura house, before beginning to walk away. The curtains were twitching again. "You wouldn't want to scare Megumi-chan, would you?"

He turned the corner, finding himself on another residential street, aware of Shizuo following by the effort the blond made just to keep his breathing steady. A quick look around confirmed no vending machines, and the only things Shizuo could throw at him would be the row of terracotta planters crowding someone's wall.

"There, that's better isn't—"

The punch blindsided him, literally and figuratively. His vision flickered, and when it finally cleared he was bent over someone's gate, ears ringing and a metallic taste in his mouth. Spitting out the blood, he winced at the thrumming pain in his jaw as he straightened.

Shizu-chan must have been holding back; not only was he still breathing, his head was still attached to his neck.

Drawing out his knife, pretending it was any deterrent whatsoever, he aimed the sharp point at the blond, and murmured, "That wasn't very nice, Shizu-chan."

"Nice? You _knew_! You knew and you fucking brought me here! I can't…" Hands laced in his hair, Shizuo turned to look at him, gaze spitting daggers, before looking away again. "What were you…? No, y'know what, fuck it. Fuck all of this. I'm done with your bullshit."

Izaya decided he had two options, and choosing truth never seemed to work out that well for him. In this case, outright lying would be ridiculous, so he settled for evasive instead.

"How could I know, Shizu-chan? You haven't told me anything."

"How could…" Shizuo repeated dumbly. "How the fuck do you know anything? With your precious fucking _information network_, right? Aren't you always bragging you can do anything?"

"Well, I can't read minds, useful as that might be…"

"So what, you want me to believe this is all some big fucking coincidence?" Shizuo snarled. "You don't do coincidence, you goddamned fucked-up flea!"

More prepared, he ducked the next punch.

Shizuo's fist crashed into the planters instead, sending shards of terracotta, dirt and leaves scattering to the pavement. He slashed blindly with the blade as he turned to run, hearing Shizuo's angry roar as he snapped at his heels.

It was so horribly familiar, he could almost pretend the past few weeks never happened.

Ueno Park wasn't Ikebukuro. No maze of alleyways and streets. A deathmatch past crowds of baffled school kids outside the museum, or the tourists heading to the zoo wasn't exactly the same, even if he was quite tempted to see how animals reacted in the presence of a true beast. And, really, it wouldn't do for Shizu-chan to carry out his trademark cleave of destruction here, where rumours of such an awe inspiring display might get back to _them_.

Still… maybe it wasn't just Shizu-chan who'd missed the thrill of the chase.

So he headed south-west, skirting the edge of Shinobazu pond. Through the trees lining the street he could see the pastel coloured swan boats, and hoped Shizu-chan wouldn't notice; he really didn't want to go home soaked in pond water.

But Shizuo wouldn't notice anything in his condition. All that magnificent rage was locked onto its target, and nothing – nothing – would distract him now. The long-gone Sofitel hotel in all its ugly glory could have fallen into his path and the blond's rampage wouldn't even have slowed.

He heard the sound of metal creaking, then a piece of ornamental fencing landed in his path. Its aim was off, and Izaya's leap out of the way wasn't especially graceful – testament to the fact they were both ring-rusty. Darting through traffic to the other side of the street, grinning maniacally at the animalistic snarl of frustration behind him as brakes squealed and horns honked, he used an unbroken piece of fencing, then a phone booth, to propel him onto the low roof of a restaurant.

From peripheral vision, he could see that the little detour had allowed Shizuo to catch up. Izaya might be faster, but Shizuo's long legs ate up more distance with every stride. The blond stayed on the street, which turned out to be gallingly smart – _because this wasn't Ikebukuro_ – when the low roof ran out much too fast, leaving him with nowhere to go.

Well, almost.

Shizuo's bark of triumphant laughter turned to a bone-trembling low growl of fury when Izaya jumped off the roof onto the top of a passing delivery truck as it turned into a side street. Regaining his balance, he knelt up to wave cheerfully at the blond, only for the truck to pull over to the side of the street barely fifty feet down the road.

_Damn it, damn it…_

"Heh…" Shizuo, who'd paused at the junction, took off running again as Izaya hopped down from the truck, tossing out a breezy "Good afternoon!" to the startled driver. He didn't stop to wonder what that wrenching, scraping sound was – he'd seen that damn vending machine on the corner as he'd jumped over it.

"That's your problem, you know!" He yelled breathlessly, still grinning as he ran. "You rely on old tricks instead of learning new ones!"

"Shut the fuck up! And stop running the hell away!"

"So stop chasing me!"

The vending machine landed unnervingly close. The more he got into the chase, the better Shizuo's aim got. Izaya ducked through a small parking lot, hoping that at least the risk of setting off car alarms might put Shizuo off.

It turned out, car alarms sounded pathetically whiny and discordant when the cars they were attached to were squashed by a hefty air-conditioning unit. Someone's bicycle came next, the basket falling off and almost tripping him as it rolled under his feet. It slowed him down enough that, when he glanced in the street mirror as he turned left, doubling back on the path of destruction, he could see Shizuo was much too close for comfort.

But that wasn't the reason he stopped paying attention, completely missing the fruit and vegetable stand out in front of a convenience store. That wasn't the reason he found himself spending some quality time with gravity as he crashed into the display, airborne for a glorious second before hitting asphalt with enough force to send him skidding halfway down the street. That wasn't even the reason none of it _hurt_.

The Shizuo in the mirror, a wild grin on his lips, eyes bright, the wind in his hair was _his_ Shizuo again. Not some inadequate imitation, not some frightened ghost. His. The way it had always been.

It took his breath away.

He staggered to his feet just before Shizuo's own momentum tripped him up, ignoring the shopkeeper's wails as he took off again. His speed was definitely hampered by the way he'd jarred his knee when he fell; a quick glance down confirmed his pants were torn, a bloody gash peeking through with every step.

It didn't matter; he barely felt it. Inside, he was _soaring_.

Because it was _working_.

_I told you I'd fix you, Shizu-chan…_

* * *

><p>Goddamned flea…<p>

He'd seen Izaya take worse falls than that – fuck it, he'd been responsible for most of them – but it was different now. There wasn't much pleasure in seeing the flea go ass over furry hood in the middle of the street.

Or maybe not different, just _real_. Maybe he just had a better grasp now on how fucking _fragile_they were. That maybe, one day, there'd be a fall, or a blow, or a nosedive the flea wouldn't just be able to get up and dust off.

_Like me._

And, in an instant, he wasn't chasing Izaya to beat the shit out of him anymore. He was just trying to keep up, just waiting for the moment the other man figured out the chase was through. 'course, this was Izaya. The bastard would run till he dropped, that was what he did best. Stopping to face the damage was never his style.

He was slowing, though. When Izaya ducked down what he thought was a side street, and tried to correct his course when it turned out to be the driveway to some open, deserted garage bay instead, he didn't turn right. His knee went one way, his body the other, and he was already losing his balance when Shizuo slammed into him, not enough time or room to slow down.

The impact sent them both sprawling into the empty bay. Izaya's hood came up, that stupid fur obviously obscuring his vision, otherwise he'd try to do something to right himself, heading as he was, face first towards the edge of a metal staircase.

"Shit…!"

If he wasn't still riding high on a crest of adrenaline, his reflexes would never have been fast enough to thrust a hand between the step and Izaya's forehead.

He couldn't see Izaya's face, but from the way the flea's body tensed under his Shizuo figured he'd just noticed how close he came. They were both still breathing hard, Shizuo's chest heaving against Izaya's shuddering back when the flea regained his bearings, hands braced on the edge of the stair. Izaya shook his head at a question no one had asked, warm puffs of breath gusting against Shizuo's hand, hair tickling his fingers.

"Fucking idiot…" Uncomfortably aware of the flea's proximity, he withdrew his hand and pulled away, sitting with his back against the opposite wall to catch his breath.

"Ah, but Shizu-chan saved me." Izaya hauled himself up to sit on the step he'd almost head-butted. One knee of his pants was torn, white skin and bright red blood visible through the ripped black fabric. Izaya leaned back on his elbows, apparently unconcerned with the state he was in. "Although I wouldn't have been running, or falling over, if Shizu-chan wasn't chasing me in the first place, so I suppose it's the least you could do."

"Right…" His legs still tingled with the exertion as he stretched them out in front of him, working the ache from his calves. It wasn't unpleasant; if anything, his muscles felt looser than they had in weeks. It was difficult to stay tense with the euphoria of pursuit still singing in his veins. "Like you've already forgotten _why_."

"Well, chasing me and mashing my face into the concrete isn't going to change the answer, is it?"

His subconscious latched onto Izaya's words a fraction of a second before he actually heard them. That was when he realized what was under his hands, what made him back up against the wall as though it could swallow him up, shield him.

Concrete. Cold and rough, and he could barely even move his hands, couldn't breathe, couldn't—

"Here. Hold this for a second."

A furry parka was tossed into his field of vision. Blinking away the haze, Shizuo's fingers curled into the material, still warm from Izaya's body heat. His hands hurt, knuckles bruised and cut from throwing half of Ueno at Izaya and the metal step left a nice ugly dent, but that warmth might as well have been the gentlest balm. Reality seeped back in as he watched Izaya tug gingerly at his sleeve, inspecting a grade-a road burn on his elbow.

"Honestly… Shizu-chan plays so rough."

"Tch. You tripped over your own fucking feet…"

"Hmm…"

He'd never known how someone could smile and frown in the same breath, but Izaya managed it.

It wasn't going to change the answer? As far as Shizuo remembered, he hadn't gotten any kind of answer at all. Izaya just skirted the edges of it, giving him confusing tidbits and talking him in circles again.

"You didn't mean it, right?" Izaya asked after a moment. "You don't really think I had anything to do with it."

He should have. It made sense. But no… it hadn't had the flea's calculating stench all over it.

"No…" He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I just think you set me up today. That's why I'm not sorry for that," he gestured vaguely to the bruise beginning to darken Izaya's jaw. "That was a fucked up thing to do. I don't care if you knew or not, it was still just…"

Izaya was still smiling as he dragged the back of his hand over his split lip, a thin ribbon of blood following in its wake. Never breaking the gaze, he licked the blood off, the red stain dark against a darting pink tongue. Shizuo wrenched his stare away, but not before he saw that triumphant 'gotcha!' glinting in Izaya's eyes.

"But this is what you wanted, ne? Just like old times."

And it was. Well, minus this semi-civil conversation afterwards, anyway…

The adrenaline rush was draining away. He hadn't used it – hadn't felt it – in so long, the weariness that followed felt like a full-on crash. But for a second, there'd been nothing but the howl of that blazing rage in his head, the flea in his sights, and the world rushing by without touching him, without so much as leaving a mark.

It was fucking fantastic.

And fuck if he couldn't tell anymore whether Izaya'd done all this on purpose just for that reaction, or whether he'd just twisted the situation to achieve the same ends.

Did it even matter? This was the closest he'd felt to that fricking elusive feeling of normal in weeks.

Now he knew what Izaya was up to, it would be easy to resist it. The flea could push all he wanted, all Shizuo had to do was hold him at bay, and if there was one thing he had experience with it was that. Never mind the growing sense of apprehension that Izaya was only driven to this because of Shizuo's own inaction, that maybe the flea was only doing what Shizuo himself was too cowardly to consider.

_Just don't give in to his provocation. Just don't give him a reason to think you should. _

Izaya sighed, getting to his feet, brushing dirt and leftover bits of road from his pants.

"Come on, Shizu-chan." He held out a hand. "Let's go home."

Instead of taking that hand – right, like a scrawny little shit like Izaya could really haul him anywhere – he handed Izaya back his coat, fingers lingering on the warm fur as he shoved himself to his feet.

"Okay. But I wanna stop somewhere on the way."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N - ...could it be we're _actually_ making progress, boys? ;D Also, apologies in advance for the trolling... *innocent look* **  
><strong>_

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 81 - 89)  
><strong>_

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><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Fourteen

"Are you sure you want to do it like this?"

Izaya's breath against the damp skin of his neck made Shizuo shiver, even though the room was almost uncomfortably warm. From the corner of his eye, he saw the flea's fingers tighten around the small bottle he held.

_No, I don't. But if I back out, I'll lose my nerve…_

"You could wait," Izaya went on. "You don't have to do this now."

Shizuo shrugged, steeling himself. "It's gotta be done some time, right? The longer I leave it, the worse it's gonna get, and then I'm never gonna want to bother with it again."

"But I've never done this before." Izaya hesitated. "Maybe it'd be better if it was someone else."

"There is no one else. It's fine like this."

"Fine. But if it goes wrong, you can't be angry at me, all right? I warned you it wasn't a good idea."

"Will you just get on with it?" Shizuo grumbled. "I didn't embarrass the crap out of myself in the drugstore just for you to be the one chickening out."

And how fricking embarrassing that was. Eventually – mostly because Izaya's laughter was getting on his last frayed nerve – he'd taken several boxes to the sales girl behind the counter and asked her to choose. She'd stared at him, blushed, and squeaked out "M-my boyfriend uses that one" which was as good a recommendation as any.

Izaya giggled softly. "Really. How dare they confuse you with all those different brands, ne?"

"Flea—"

"Hold on. It says I need to mix these two bottles together first…" In the mirror, he watched Izaya scrunch his nose at whatever instructions he read from the bleaching kit box. Izaya had uncovered it when they came in, saying he wouldn't risk being out of Shizuo's line of sight with dangerous chemicals in his hands. It made sense, but he wished the damn flea wasn't so casual about it all, like there was nothing messed up in the least about it. "You know, I could have arranged for someone to come here and do it for you if you didn't want to sit in a salon."

Shizuo gripped the edges of the towel draped around his shoulders. He'd warned Izaya to use an old one, but the one he held was as soft and fluffy as the day it had been purchased. Did the flea own anything that didn't have that showroom-fresh air about them? "That's not the problem…"

"I know." Izaya nodded, concentrating on mixing the noxious smelling liquids. The air-con was running with a soft background hum, but hell if Shizuo knew whether it'd be good enough. It'd be the icing on a messed up day if they ended up passing out in Izaya's bathroom. "I just don't want to take the blame for this, seeing as I'm the one who kept telling you about it."

"Tch, if you wanna take responsibility for something, I can give you a whole goddamn list. Fucking up my hair isn't gonna be on it."

"You say that now…"

He closed his eyes as Izaya started applying the bleach, listening to the creak of the rubber gloves and the shush of each dab of hair dye.

He'd never have thought a circumstance existed where he'd feel comfortable in the flea's presence. Not just tolerating him, not just simmering his anger on a louse-fire. Comfortable. Like there was nowhere else he could imagine being in that moment. Now and then, when the handle of the brush snagged on his hair as Izaya separated it into workable clumps, the echo of hands yanking his hair tight shivered through him. Izaya paused every time, waiting until Shizuo relaxed and nodded imperceptibly before continuing.

Opening his eyes, he glanced up at the mirror again. Izaya's face was set in a look of concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips, brows slightly drawn. After every brush of bleach, he tilted his head, scrutinizing his work. If Shizuo didn't know better, he'd think Izaya really gave a shit about doing a good job.

_Maybe he does. Wouldn't be the craziest thing he's done lately…_

And he still didn't believe for a second Izaya was telling him the truth about any of that.

Izaya crossed the line today. When Izaya's games were just hurting Shizuo, it was one thing. He could take it; hell, he probably deserved it. Involving two innocent people who had nothing to do with this whole fucking mess…

Maybe it was time for him to admit he hadn't _wanted_ to know what the flea had planned. That he'd been too chickenshit to _really_ question why.

Still, it was impossible to reconcile an asshole who hated him that much with the man carefully applying the bleach to the roots of his hair, meticulous enough that he didn't even feel the smarting sting of the mixture touching his skin. It didn't mesh with the way Izaya reacted to the _weirdest_ things. Why the colour of his hair was so damn important, he had no idea. It wasn't even as important to him as seemed to be to Izaya, at least not anymore. There was no point broadcasting a warning if you weren't gonna follow it through, was there? Besides, they'd be looking for a blonde guy in a bartender outfit. If he changed himself enough, maybe he could shake off that whole existence.

Except Izaya wouldn't let him. Izaya wouldn't let him forget, even while he claimed he wanted things back to normal. Didn't the damn flea realize Shizuo couldn't do both?

"You think they'll be okay?" he asked after a long silence during which Izaya had started humming something tuneless under his breath as he worked. Shizuo had to say something, else he was gonna fall asleep under the lulling ministrations.

"Hmm?"

"The wife and kid. If he figures out we were there…"

The brush paused, before continuing methodically. "They'll be fine."

Somehow, Shizuo doubted that. But then he was asking the wrong guy, wasn't he? They'd been nothing to Izaya but a fascinating experiment, just like him. He just hoped Hanako was smart enough to realize that hadn't been a normal, friendly visit. He hoped she knew her husband well enough to keep her mouth shut.

The guy had a wife and kid. It had never crossed Shizuo's mind. He wasn't so fucking naïve as to think someone with the perfect little family at home couldn't commit some screwed up things, but…

_Afterwards, did he go home and…?_

"She was what… maybe a couple of years older than us?"

"Ah, probably something like that."

"You ever wonder why people're drawn to other people they know aren't any good for them?"

Izaya chuckled softly. "Now and then. But according to your theory, that's what love is, ne?"

"Tch…"

Okay, so he'd walked into that one. It just made no sense to him. No, he knew – what was the bastard's name, Nishimura? – he hadn't gone home and told his wife that he'd just… he hadn't told her what happened. But how could you live with someone, how could you love someone, have a family with them, without even noticing they were that fucked up? How much, how _dangerously_ did you have to love someone for that to fall by the wayside?

Or maybe she was just scared. All the more reason not to drag her into it. All the more reason why he should have gotten on his knees and told her how sorry he was.

"There, done. Now we just wait for it to take." Izaya snapped off the gloves, discarding them and the leftover bleach in the sink as he programmed the timer on his cell phone. "The instructions say we should check the progress in twenty minutes. What shall we do with the time?"

Shizuo picked at a thread coming loose from the edge of the towel. "How about you tell me about this afternoon one more time."

"Shizu-chan…" Izaya sighed wearily. "There's nothing more I can say. Stop reading into things."

"You want me to believe you weren't involved, right?" He shrugged, watching Izaya's evasive gaze snap back to his at that remark. Why the hell it mattered so much to the flea that Shizuo knew he played no part in… in the fight, he had idea. All he knew was that this wasn't Izaya guilty, for the simple reason that Izaya didn't do guilty; Izaya basked in it. If it had been Izaya's idea, the first thing he saw when the drugs wore off would've been those red eyes and that victorious smirk.

Lately, he couldn't even remember why they were fighting, let alone what the prize was meant to be.

Izaya being the lying, scheming, screwed up insect he was, that had been the reason once, even if Shizuo had to admit it wasn't a very good one. Especially not when the guy watching him from the other side of the bathroom only reminded him of _that_ Izaya in fleeting glimpses.

"I'd never want this." Izaya shook his head. "This is just…"

"So wanting me dead is okay, but it's not okay to want me—"

He still couldn't even say the damn words. Something in his gut told him that was probably more of a problem than not being able to go to the hair salon in case he choked his hair stylist.

Izaya watched him curiously, and Shizuo braced himself for another round of nonchalantly brutal honesty.

"Like you said, ne…" Instead, the corner of Izaya's mouth quirked in a wry smile. "We haven't been doing a very good job of the whole killing each other thing."

"Just 'cause you keep running away."

"Or just because you keep letting me."

"Tch, you think I'm not trying?"

"Oh, I think you try. I just think you can't bring yourself to finish it." Izaya didn't look altogether smug at that awareness. "But that's just Shizu-chan, ne? All bark, no bite."

It wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Yeah, Izaya _was_ good at running away, as fast, sly and armour-plated as his nickname. But there'd been times, lost in the rush of the fight, when he'd known he had several more gears to shift to, if he deemed it necessary.

Izaya pushed himself away from the sink, reaching into his pocket as he dropped to one knee. Unfolding the flick knife, he pressed the handle into Shizuo's hand, closing his fingers around it.

"The hell are you—?"

"But I don't understand it, Shizu-chan…" And it was that frustration tugging Izaya's brows down as he held Shizuo's wrist, lifting the knife until the razor sharp tip rested in the hollow of his own throat. "I don't understand why you can't. You hate me. I make your life miserable. A world without me would be heaven for you. I _hurt_ you and you still cling to… what are they? Principles? Morals? That's not how monsters are meant to act, Shizu-chan."

With every whispered syllable, the blade pressed into pale skin. He knew how sharp that knife was; he still had the scar to prove it. Still his fingers felt welded to the handle. The more he tried to let go, the more he envisioned Izaya impaling himself on the shiny steel just to see what would happen.

Not that this was about Izaya at all.

"Do it." Izaya murmured. "End it. You'll feel so much better, won't you, knowing I can't cause any more damage."

Shizuo shook his head. That frightening look was back in Izaya's eyes. Sometimes, it was too easy to forget he wasn't just dealing with a relentless pest. Too easy to forget that behind the smart mouth and the tacky fur was a very fucking dangerous man. A man who didn't know the meaning of limits, of boundaries, of holding back.

A man who skipped joyously through the debris of everything Shizuo had tried so hard to be.

"No…"

"Why not?"

_Because I'm not as strong as you._

"Stop fucking around." It was the other, useless strength that let him snatch his hand back from Izaya's grip, the knife clattering harmlessly to the floor between them.

Izaya sighed, kneeling down to retrieve it. "Oh, relax, Shizu-chan. Do you really think I'd have put my neck on the line if I honestly believed you'd do it?"

"I…" He was breathing so hard, the fumes were making him a little lightheaded. "I don't know what the fuck you'd do anymore."

"Well…" Izaya looked up at him, smiled crookedly before turned back to the sink, busying himself with cleaning up the mess. "At least I'm not demanding you return the favour, ne?"

And that was really the question, wasn't it...?

"Why not?"

"Hmm?" Izaya's eyes met his in the mirror.

"Why aren't you making me return the favour? 'Cause if you had a knife to my throat and me not fighting back, you'd take your shot, wouldn't you?"

"Heh…" Izaya lowered his gaze. "Shizu-chan's just being silly. And, may I add, mixing metaphors, which is—"

"_Stop_." Launching himself out of the chair, a few angry paces brought him right up to the flea. Izaya made an undignified noise of surprise when Shizuo yanked him around and pinned him back against the sink, hands bracketing narrow hips. He refused to look at those deceitful eyes second-hand in the mirror, even if Izaya seemed intent on looking at anything but him. "I've had enough of this, how fucking hard is that for you to understand, huh?"

Because everything he'd ever known, everything he believed in was broken, shattered into pieces too small to ever really be fixed, and one more lie, one more reason for him to second-guess it all…

"Shizu-chan—"

"Why? Why are you doing this? Why aren't you taking your perfect fucking chance when you hate me so much? Why are you keeping tabs on my—" His mouth went dry. Accidentally, he caught sight of his own eyes in the mirror, wild and frantic. "Why the fuck would you cry over someone like me if it wasn't part of whatever fricking game you're playing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Lips a thin, tight line, Izaya folded his arms across his chest, looking away.

"_Please_..." Izaya's gaze snapped back to his at that. "I can't… I can't play your games anymore. I just can't. You win. Whatever the fuck you're doing, you win. Just stop lying to me."

"I'm _not_."

"Yeah, you are. 'cause you don't _do_ this to people you hate. You don't try to fix what you'd rather just went and died, not unless you're only doing it to fuck them over twice as hard." He heard himself laugh, a harsh, desperate sound. "You've had so many fucking chances, and you haven't taken any of them. You aren't wired that way, flea."

Izaya opened his mouth to speak, just as the cell phone timer beeped.

"Shit…!"

"Ah, time's up." Izaya took advantage of the distraction to squirm away.

"Izaya…" The drawn out syllables were a low warning. Izaya held up his hands in a placating gesture. It might have carried a bit more gravitas if he wasn't in the middle of putting the gloves back on, the limp fingertips flapping as he spoke.

"I'm not evading, Shizu-chan. Really. But we should wash this off first, ne? We can talk when your hair isn't dissolving from chemical abuse as we speak."

_Damn it…_

Pushing away from the sink angrily, he stomped back over to shower where Izaya was testing the heat of the detachable showerhead.

"I know what you're thinking, y'know…" He muttered as he ducked his head, letting the warm water rinse away the bleach.

Izaya must have lost his grip on the slippery showerhead, because the spray suddenly went everywhere, splashing halfway up the wall and down Shizuo's back.

"Oh, really?" The water shut off, and he heard the tearing of the toner packet. For a moment, he wondered if he'd pissed Izaya off, but the fingers that smoothed the thick, goopy liquid through his hair were as gentle as they'd ever been. Gentle enough to send uncomfortable shivers through the muscles of his back. "And what might that be?"

"I know you think I'm…" He grit his teeth; knowing it and saying it aloud were two different things. "I'm _weak_ for not going after them. I know that. I know I _am_, but it doesn't change anything. I know it's selfish, I know it's pathetic, I—"

The water came on again in a rush. "Didn't I just say I knew you wouldn't do it?" Those fingers were back in his hair, washing waves of water from the nape of his neck, over his scalp. "I don't understand it, but… that's Shizu-chan, ne?"

"So why are you dealing with them? 'Cause I'm not dumb enough to think today was just some one-off coincidence."

"Well," Izaya's fingers slowed contemplatively, "no harm in keeping your options open, is there? Just because you feel like this now…"

"I'm not gonna change my mind, flea."

An image of Hanako's shy smile, an echo of Megumi's happy giggle suddenly drifted across his mind.

_Even though I should…_

He growled irately when Izaya sat him up when the water cut off again, droplets dripping from his bangs. "Oi, watch it." He squirmed, rubbing a hand across his face before Izaya wrapped the towel around his head, drying his hair in quick, rough movements. "Quit getting crap in my eyes."

"Heh, Shizuo's such a little kid." Izaya laughed, ruffling his wet hair before assaulting him with the towel again, scrubbing so hard Shizuo's teeth snapped together. "But it looks good, ne?" The scrubbing slowed. "It looks like Shizu-chan again…"

"…flea?"

Izaya stopped, fingers curled into the towel either side of his face. If he turned just an inch either way, he'd brush his cheek against Izaya's knuckles. The gentle weight pulling on the towel tugged his head up, just as Izaya leaned down.

The whisper of fear that scraped against his senses only managed a tenuous grip in the face of hurricane force disbelief when Izaya closed the distance between them, lips brushing Shizuo's in a chaste, gentle kiss.

And it was the dumbest thought to have when the man who claimed to hate him more than anything was _kissing_ him, but he couldn't help think that, like his hands, Izaya's lips were warmer and softer than he'd ever have imagined. They moved against his own in the most undemanding nuzzle, not even taking advantage of Shizuo's surprised intake of breath to deepen the kiss.

At the edges of his awareness, memories clawed at him, reminding him of what happened last time someone touched his lips, but they couldn't stir up more than a vague unease in comparison. He was just stumbling around in the dark, knowing there were traps in his path but helpless to avoid them.

"Flea…"

Izaya drew back just enough to meet his eyes, pupils blown wide and dark. That hazy gaze searched Shizuo's face for a moment, before Izaya shook his head, lowering his mouth to Shizuo's again.

But surprise only happened once. The numbness of incredulity couldn't last with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, flooding his senses with panic, with awareness, with…

_Fuck…_

Every muscle coiled tight, telling him to run, to get the hell away from this. A wet edge of the towel brushed across his bare shoulders, just the way his clothes clung to him then, cold and damp.

"Don't." He breathed against Izaya's lips, too scared to turn his head in case those gentle fingers touched his face. If Izaya touched him now, he didn't think his body would let him hold back. His fists already trembled with the effort, forearms aching.

_I don't want to hurt you._

Izaya blinked, and for a second Shizuo wondered whether he wasn't the only one snapping out of a daze. Those russet eyes stared at him, darting from Shizuo's face to the way Izaya's fingers clung to the edge of the towel as if he couldn't quite accept they belonged to him. And just like Shizuo couldn't pull away, it took Izaya several long moments to let go.

Forcing a smile that never touched his eyes, Izaya ruffled the towel one last time as he stepped away. "Wait there, I think I have a dryer somewhere, so you can—"

"Oi." He grabbed the flea's wrist before he could move out of reach, the touch just as unsure as his voice, a strange low-pitched thing coming out of his mouth that he didn't recognize. He didn't even know what he wanted, just that he didn't want Izaya to just walk away. "What was that…?"

Izaya didn't turn around, didn't shake him off.

_That was part of the 'therapy'. That was testing your limits. That was just another distraction. That was—_

"That was a mistake, Shizu-chan," Izaya said softly, extricating himself from Shizuo's grip. "Forget it."

"Hey—"

But the flea was already gone, the bathroom door closing behind him, and for several seconds all Shizuo could do was stare at empty space and wonder what the hell just happened.

_He kissed me._

It took some effort just to remember what they'd been talking about before. Because _something_ had put such a fucked up idea in the flea's head, and if it was something he'd said, something he'd done...

_Maybe I asked for that, too._

Except it had been so careful. Even if he twisted it, embellished it with memories that had nothing to do with here, with now, there was nothing forced about it. Shit, Izaya seemed as taken aback as he was when it was over.

_After he kissed me._

When was the last time anyone treated him like that? Like something so fragile he might break in their hands? When the fuck was the last time anyone thought they _had _to? He was only interesting to Izaya in his brokenness. The twisted flea was just getting off on that.

And then having the fricking nerve to tell him to _forget_, like Izaya had no idea that was the one thing Shizuo couldn't do? If he could forget, he wouldn't even be here.

How the hell was he _supposed_ to forget when he could still feel the warmth of the flea's mouth lingering on his lips?

_Damn it, damn it…_

He heard the front door slam just as he yanked the bathroom door open.

"Fucking flea…!" He fisted his hands in wet hair to keep him from punching holes in the wall. "Stop fucking running away…"

Ignoring the way his hair still dripped wet rivulets down his back, he thundered back down the hall to the spare bedroom, snatching his bag from the corner and gathering all his sparse belongings. What the fuck was the point in waiting around for more lies? He didn't have to play Izaya's games, never should have fallen for it in the first place. But it wasn't too late. He could just take himself out of the equation like this.

He wouldn't have to wonder why anymore.

_You want me to stop chasing, flea? Fine by me._

* * *

><p>The bar was loud and smoky. In the quiet beats between a thumping bass that made his stool vibrate, high-pitched girlish laughter tinkled like broken glass from the booth in the corner.<p>

When he left the apartment, he hadn't even known where he was going. When he regained enough sense to realize he had to do _something_ with the rest of his evening that would keep him out until Shizuo quit waiting for him – no doubt with a punch, though Izaya decided that would be more preferable to questions – he'd called the contact he had keeping tabs on Hayashi and arranged a meeting.

Half an hour later, said contact was happily running up an extortionate bill on Izaya's tab.

_Fine. I'll take it out of your final payment._

"So that's about it. He's better at covering his tracks than I'd have expected, but the Awakusu are asking questions."

Making a mental note to expect a call from Shiki-san any day now, Izaya shrugged. "Then clearly he's not as good as he thinks."

"He's getting greedy, too," his contact said, oblivious to the hypocrisy of _that _particular statement as he knocked back another expensive bourbon. "Wants a higher cut of the profits, because he thinks he's taking more of a risk."

"Is he?"

"With the Awakusu, maybe. With his clients? No. He's just been touting around the club scene. Supposedly, he's doing decent business though. Probably why he thinks he could wring more out of the deal."

That made sense. There were still a significant amount of people who'd rather deal with an independent dealer than anyone tied to the yakuza. Less scary, as ridiculous as that seemed – did it somehow temper the illegality of the act if one could claim they weren't supporting organized crime? For that reason alone, foreigners tended to do better, but even an idiot could tell Hayashi had no backing. Even the Wakahisa who seemed content to hold onto financial morons like Nishimura had seen fit to cut him loose.

"He hasn't been in touch with any of his friends?"

"You're kidding, right? He thinks he's too much of a big-shot for them now. There was talk a couple of nights ago that the kid from the Wakahisa who'd been following him around like the sun shone from his ass got _his_ ass handed to him in a club for trying to talk to him."

"Ah, Yuuto Satou, ne?"

"You know, back in the day Ueno used to be a big deal." His contact shook his head mournfully. "Now… these dumbfuck brats will run it into the ground, mark my words." He finished his glass. "Anyway, Hayashi didn't want to know, and the kid ain't cut out for starting shit he can't finish. Kinda felt bad for him."

"Everyone has free will, don't they?" Izaya tracked a droplet of water as it snaked down the side of his own glass. "I doubt Hayashi held a gun to his head."

"Maybe. Guess you wouldn't gravitate towards that life unless something in you steered you that way in the first place, huh?"

Izaya laughed a little, waving off his contact as the man left.

"Ah, who knows…"

Honestly, it suited him fine if people _did_ change their intrinsic nature, given the right incentive. He swirled the melting ice around in his glass, just to watch the cubes bob and clack against each other. He had to believe that, didn't he? Or else everything he did was for nothing.

No… he smiled to himself, remembering the Shizuo he'd seen that afternoon. No, it wasn't for nothing. And as soon as Shizu-chan started thinking a little too much about the plight of poor Hanako and Megumi, as soon as he began to realize that his ephemeral concept of 'other people' being hurt wasn't so intangible after all, well…

_You'll change your mind, Shizu-chan. Because that's who you are._

His smile slipped a little when the image of Shizuo shifted from that gloriously wild creature to the tense, wary thing staring back at him, all wet hair, parted lips and frightened eyes. He wasn't much into self-flagellation – really, what else would he do with his time if he was? – but he might make an exception for that hopelessly misguided kiss.

Worse, he'd been given the perfect opportunity to brush it off as anything he chose. But when Shizuo asked, his mind went blank. All the silver-tongued excuses in the world just died on his lips, because the only thing he could think about was the way it felt when he thought, maybe, Shizuo wouldn't resist. When those hazy amber eyes hadn't looked at him like Izaya was going to _hurt_ him.

_Tch, what did you expect? That's the source of this whole disaster, isn't it?_

And, truthfully, he wasn't even sure he was talking about the rape anymore. Even if he _did_ admit to himself all those pointless things he wanted, they'd have been as insane to contemplate now as they would have been if it had never happened.

All the more reason to take them down. Not only had the vermin taken away his rightful place as the only one permitted to destroy Shizu-chan, they'd forced his hand, allowed him to get tangled up in this mess himself when he'd prided himself on pulling the strings from a distance.

He downed his drink, and thought about ordering another.

_How much would I need to drink to forget about you, hmm?_

The girls in the corner giggled again. Distracted, Izaya glanced in the mirror behind the bar, watching three young women who didn't look old enough to be drinking fawning over a blonde guy in an ugly white suit. Maybe he was a host, though it was still too early in the evening for the clubs to be closed. A work-shy host, then. In a certain light, he looked a little bit like Shizu-chan.

The guy met his gaze in the mirror, eyes narrowing in a predatory grin, and Izaya felt himself smile back. The man tilted his head, listening attentively to something one of the girls said, but his stare never wavered.

He should seduce this stranger. Take him to the closest hotel and let him fuck away every last foolish trace of _wanting _from his body. Obviously, the man was up for it; if Izaya strolled over there now, bought him a drink and made himself comfortable in that booth, he was pretty certain those girls would be sent away.

While he was still mulling it over, the bartender set a glass of rose champagne down in front of him, the delicate long-stemmed glass resting on a neatly folded napkin.

"From the gentleman in the corner." The bartender looked as though he was stifling a smile.

"Ah, is it now…"

And it could be that simple. In a matter of minutes, he could be on a bed somewhere, spread open under a handsome blonde, forgetting everything that had led up to this. Forgetting shaky kisses, and wary brown eyes and that warm breath of "_Don't._" No complications. No repercussions. Nothing about the flashy guy in the corner would so much as shift his foundations in the slightest. He could look at himself in the mirror in the morning and still recognize the man looking back.

It'd be easy, then, to go back home and tell Shizu-chan he wasn't what he wanted.

"_I know what you're thinking."_

No, Shizu-chan, I don't think you do…

Laughing to himself, soft and bitter, he pushed the glass back towards the bartender.

"Please, tell him 'thank you'. But I was just leaving, so he might be better off giving it to one of his admirers, ne? It'd be a shame to waste it."

The bartender shrugged as Izaya slid off the barstool, resolutely avoiding one last glance in the mirror as he walked away.

Outside, the cool evening air cleared his head a little. The street was busy with people drifting from one club to the next. Amid the raised voices, he could hear laughter, punctuated by the sharp jab of an argument, but he was in no mood to sit around and observe his humans. Instead, he drew out his phone, dialling in a number he'd memorized from his files.

It rang just once before a nasally voice came on the line.

_That desperate for attention, Satou-kun?_

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Satou?" He put a smile into his voice, then pretended to hesitate. "This is Satou, right? Ah, did Hayashi give me the wrong num—"

"Yeah, I'm Satou."

_Desperate and eager. Always a winning combination._

"Oh, good. I mean, you know what Hayashi's like, right? I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd given me someone else's number by mistake." He shoved his free hand in his coat pocket as he strolled towards home. "Anyway, Hayashi wanted to call you himself but he's…" He lowered his voice. "Well, you know he's involved with some new shit, right? In 'bukuro?"

"Yeah, I saw him the other night…" Satou didn't sound convinced, but Izaya banked on the kid's neediness winning through.

"That's why I'm calling. See, Hayashi wanted to say sorry for what happened, but he can't come to you directly right now. He needs to lie low. They say the Awakusu are after him for getting in on their turf."

"So… all that was just for show, right?" Satou brightened. "I knew it! Shit…" The nasal whine of his voice only got worse when he laughed. Or maybe he was having an asthma attack, Izaya couldn't be sure. "I knew he wouldn't back out on a bro like that!"

"Of course not. But you know how it is, he needs to stay off radar."

"Oh, totally." Satou said with a confidence the kid had no right to feel.

'Kid' was right. Nineteen years old, and on the police's books since he was thirteen. There was no family connection to crime whatsoever – Satou'd been raised in a normal family. Very normal. Izaya knew, because there had been detailed reports from the three separate occasions Satou and his parents had been dragged to family courts before the beleaguered pair finally cut their losses. Around the same time, Satou had begun seeing Hayashi as some kind of surrogate mentor figure, riding on his coat tails through the ranks. At least until Hayashi himself proved about as effective as a lace kite, and Satou ended up treading water in the bottom rungs with him instead.

Still, the kid was loyal, for reasons Izaya couldn't fathom. Maybe that perfect little family unit was a little _too_ perfect, and Satou decided to sate his need for attention and approval elsewhere. No doubt his participation could be traced back to the fact Hayashi hadn't objected too hard, but stupidity was no defence.

"Anyway, since he can't contact you for a while he passed on your info to me. I could kinda use a hand for a couple of jobs in the meantime, if you're interested. Beats sitting around cooling your heels, right?"

"What're you paying?"

Hayashi was a cheapskate, so Izaya had no qualms about saying, "Twice what Hayashi pays you."

"Shit, you're kidding?" He could picture Satou's jaw hitting the floor. "Damn, whatcha need me to do, off someone?"

"Not quite. How about you meet me some time this week and we'll hash out some details, ne?"

By the time he was on his street, he'd arranged a meeting with Satou for the end of the week. Long enough to give the kid time to start doubting Hayashi's motives for palming him off on a stranger while he reaped the rewards of undercutting the Awakusu. He'd have to fob Shizu-chan off with some excuse that day, because Satou wanted to meet for lunch at a fast food restaurant of all places. Ah, he supposed he couldn't fault the kid for taking simple precautions.

_And I can bring you back a milkshake, ne, Shizu-chan?_

In the elevator up to his door, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool brushed metal. The planning relaxed him a little, forced his train of thought to take a different track. Thinking about Shizuo in that context was as distant and businesslike as any other deal. He couldn't allow himself to blur the lines any more than he already had.

He spared a thought, as the door dinged open, to the blonde at the bar, and pretended he was wistful. It might have been a safer way of working this ridiculous longing out of his system; he'd always been good at melding reality to fit his fantasies, and the stranger looked enough like Shizu-chan for him to pretend, and…

_Well, he wouldn't have any hang-ups with touching, would he?_

It wasn't a very kind thought, but he figured it was better that way. If he chased it away, he'd only think about all those times Shizuo _had_ touched him, those instinctive moments when the blonde didn't even realize what he was doing. His hand lifted to his forehead, where a metal-staircase-induced gash should have been. Every time he remembered falling, he remembered Shizuo's fingers. Remembered the heat and weight of the blond behind him before Shizu-chan grew awkward and uncomfortable and pulled away.

Che… maybe he should have taken the stranger to bed, after all.

The apartment looked dark when he opened the door. He shrugged out of his jacket and toed off his shoes in silence. He'd deal with Shizu-chan in the morning, when they both had their stories straight. Or, when he'd made one up and Shizuo forgot why he was asking in the first place.

He'd been tiptoeing towards his room, despite knowing that nothing in his apartment would creak underfoot to betray his return, when the hiss of a lighter springing to life made him jump. He turned towards the couch in time to see the glow of the flickering flame illuminating Shizuo's profile, making the newly dyed hair gleam. His eyes had to adjust when the lighter abruptly shut off, and the only indication of the blond's presence was the ember spark of the cigarette tip, a light that brightened as he took a deep drag.

"Y'know, the crappy part of running away," Shizuo's voice was quiet, befitting the hour and the darkness, "is that eventually, you always have to come back."

And for some reason, it always involved coming back to this man, one way or another.

"Ah, Shizu-chan waited up for me?" Escaping now would look petty, even though every muscle in his body protested as he sauntered closer, flicking on a lamp as he neared the couch. "You didn't have to. I told you, ne? I can take care of myself."

Shizuo squinted a little at the light. His hair had dried messily, unruly licks of gold sticking up. Next to him on the couch was a bag, angrily packed if the broken strap and torn buckle were anything to go by. Feeling his jaw tense, Izaya made himself ask, "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah."

"It's a little late, don't you think? At least wait until the morning." He perched on the arm on the couch. "And if you're leaving because of something as inconsequential as what happened earlier, then—"

"You _kissed_ me." Shizuo looked up at him, frowning as though the very concept of anyone wanting to kiss him _at all_ was beyond his understanding. "Why would you do something like that?"

There were a million sarcastic retorts just waiting on his tongue, each one sharper than the last. A quick, cutting put down and he could go to bed content in the knowledge that Shizu-chan was angry at him again and all was well with the world. The balance would tip back in his favour, though he had a hard time believing either of them were _happy_ with the current state of things. Not if Shizuo was leaving. Not if he'd sat here, waiting alone in the dark with that kiss the _only _thing on his mind.

_So brush him off. Tell him he's stupid, tell him you were only playing with him. Break him again, just to see what he'll do. Hurt him. Destroy him, like you always longed to._

Instead, he heard himself say, "Because I wanted to."


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N - Thank you guys **so much** for the comments __3 (oh man, art _and_ heartbreak in the same chapter? *flail* Not worthy, totally not worthy!) I'm glad you're enjoying this! _

_Apologies that it's taking a while to get these chapters formatted properly - in between updating all the other fics OTL - but if Livejournal really is going to drive me away this week with its ridiculous changes to commenting, it's likely everything else will end up here (or at least on some other new archive) so I'm going to have to figure out a quicker way of doing it. So for those of you who were reading ahead/reading the other stuff there, I'll keep you updated as to where the other fics might end up.  
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_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 90 - 98)  
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><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Fifteen

Shizuo said nothing, just started at him, waiting for the punch line.

_Sorry, Shizu-chan. This isn't that sort of joke. _

A little mechanically, Shizuo turned away again when it finally registered.

"Oh."

Izaya drew one knee up, resting his chin on it, hands laced around his shin. Shizuo rested his cigarette on the edge of a plate he'd been using for an ashtray. Maybe it had been his imagination that the blond had been cutting back lately, but either way, any good Shizuo had done to his lungs had been negated in one evening, judging from the overflowing butts. How had he even missed the scent of smoke when he got home? The lingering smell of the smoky bar, he told himself, clinging to his clothes and his hair. It wasn't that he'd become so used to it that he took it for granted.

_Of course not. He's only been here three weeks, how could that possibly be enough for something like that to happen? _

Three weeks under the same roof, perhaps, but Shizu-chan had been a thorn in his side much, much longer than that. What was that pearl of wisdom about admitting the problem being the first step to solving it? No. This was one of those cases where awareness and admission just made things a hundred times worse.

Ah, but Shizuo was leaving anyway. If it was all falling down around him now, at least Izaya'd go down in a blaze of ignominy.

"Was it…" Shizuo stared at his hands. "Was it something I did?"

Izaya laughed a little, shaking his head. "Not the way you think, Shizu-chan."

Besides, the question was phrased incorrectly from the get go; it wasn't 'something', it was 'everything'.

"You know, it's really annoying," he went on softly, as if raising his voice would send Shizuo out of the door faster than anything else Izaya could throw at him, "having someone demand the truth all the time when I don't know myself. I _hate _not knowing things. I know things for a living, it's what I do. But no, Shizu-chan kept asking for information that, unfortunately, I don't have."

"Sorry." Shizuo picked up the cigarette again, just staring at it as ash accumulated at the tip. "Would you have told me even if you did?"

"Probably not."

"Yeah…" Taking a drag, Shizuo blew the smoke out on a half-laugh. "That's what I thought."

He reached back, toyed with the frayed edges of the broken bag strap. If he'd picked up that guy at the bar, only making it home by morning, would Shizuo still have waited? The torn bag said 'no', but Izaya wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure how to take that, either. "Why didn't you go?"

"Dunno… maybe I'm just tired of watching you run." Shizuo frowned at his cigarette. "Kinda started wondering if you were tired of it too."

No, he really wasn't. He'd run to the ends of the earth if he could just _not_ have this conversation now.

_Hmm, it might have been a good idea to consider that _before_ you kissed him, ne?_

His cell phone rang in his pocket. Izaya had a pretty good idea who it might be, and under normal circumstances he might have made the effort to shift his priorities so that he could take Shiki-san's call. But not now. Reaching into his pocket, he didn't even look at the caller ID before switching his phone off.

Shizuo glanced at him. "That might've been important."

_So's this. _

"Ah, if it was then they'll call back. I'm not on tap for the entirety of Tokyo twenty-four seven, you know. I do have office hours. Take a chance and call at some other time, well… I answer at my discretion."

Besides, the way he felt right now he'd tell Shiki-san exactly where he could find Hayashi, and it was still too soon for that. He still needed Hayashi alive to reel Satou in; the kid would bolt if his damned hero took a dive with the fishes in Tokyo bay, especially after their little quarrel the other day. Once he had Satou on the hook, well…

_Then I won't feel like playing with you anymore, Hayashi-san._

"So…" Shizuo abandoned his cigarette, and made no moves to light a new one. "All this 'fixing' shit is just because…"

"Oh, no." Stretching out his legs, Izaya swung them back and forth idly, as much as his position perched on the armrest would allow. Nervous energy itched just under his skin, and it wouldn't let him sit still. He half-wished he'd picked up Shizu-chan's nasty habit, because having something to do with his hands now sounded terribly appealing. "I keep telling you, I'm not lying about that. I want us back to normal."

"Tch… was our 'normal' ever that great, flea?"

"No. But it was…" Safe. Distant. "Familiar. Besides, that's what you want too, isn't it?"

"Maybe. At first, I thought I just wanted me back, y'know? But I don't even know if that's possible anymore. I don't even think that guy is worth getting back, so just… getting to a place where I'm not gonna hurt anyone is enough."

"No." Izaya shook his head, forcing vehemence he really didn't feel into his voice because they both needed to hear it. "We're going back to how things were."

"Flea—"

"What, are you telling me you're happy like this?" He half turned, watching the tense play of muscles under the soft fabric of Shizuo's shirt as the other man shrugged noncommittally. "Are you happy letting them win? If you think I'm just going to sit around and _watch_ while everything goes to hell…" While everything I know, everything I can control just slides from my hands… "I knew how to _deal_ with this, then. Now, it's just…"

Shizuo just laughed bleakly. "Yeah…"

In the silence, it was terrifyingly easy to reach for Shizuo's hand, their fingers entwining loosely. There was still that faint, barely perceptible tension before the blond's palm relaxed against his own. Sometimes Izaya wondered if that'd ever go away, or whether it'd remain like the faint impression of an erased tattoo, a constant reminder of things that had once been there and no longer were.

"I wasn't being an asshole, you know." He heard Shizuo snort softly, the non-verbal equivalent of 'first time for everything'. "This _is _progress, Shizu-chan."

"Must be, if you thought kissing me was a good idea." Shizuo muttered, but his fingers tightened a fraction around Izaya's despite it all.

"Ah, Shizu-chan… I've never thought kissing you was a good idea."

"But you did it anyway."

He couldn't help smiling at the double meaning Shizuo clearly hadn't picked up on. Though maybe his mistake _had _been to think about it in the first place. "What can I say, I enjoy living dangerously."

"Stupid flea…"

Yes, he probably was. At least when it came to this.

"You know, I'm surprised you're not telling me this is all a lie, too."

Shizuo shrugged. "Thought about it. But if you were fucking around with me, you'd look happier about it."

"Ah," Izaya smiled wryly. "So Shizu-chan's observant after all."

"And sometimes, you can't act worth a crap. You just think you can."

Maybe that was true, too. Last time he'd been told something along those lines, he'd walked away with a lovely black eye to show for it. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he didn't sport even worse this time.

"I just don't get why _now_?" Shizuo looked up at him. While he was taking things far better than Izaya predicted – of course he would – there was still a glassy look to his eyes that made Izaya think he'd only absorbed about a tenth of this conversation. At least it didn't look like shock; whatever was going on behind those eyes, it didn't seem to be a play by play re-enactment of that night. "If you were… you know. Why the hell are you bringing it up _now_?"

He wasn't entirely sure what 'you know' meant. The uncertainty in Shizuo's voice could have stood for anything from 'clinically insane' to 'wanting to kiss me till neither of us could breathe', and everything in between.

"Was there ever a time it would have gone down well?"

Well… aside from all the times he could have chosen to play things differently. But that had been the whole point – why on earth would he have chosen the options that closed that distance? It had always been safer to poke sticks through the wild beast's cage than it was to reach in and pet him. Safer in the knowledge the monster would rather bite his hand than take it.

"Well, no, but…" Shizuo shook him off, preferring to scrub his hands through his messy hair instead. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend I have the first fucking idea what you want, but even if your screwed up world you don't just _kiss _people if you don't want…"

"More than that."

Shizuo's gaze snapped to him so fast Izaya thought it had to hurt. The look in the blonde's eyes said he'd still half-hoped Izaya would deny it.

Given the extent of the hole he'd dug himself here, Izaya just couldn't see the point. When the situation seemed irreparable, he prided himself on finding something to salvage out of it anyway. Something to turn to his favour. This didn't have to be any different.

And in time honoured tradition, Shizuo proved him right for all the wrong, utterly unpredictable reasons.

"But I can't…" Shizuo shook his head, the heel of his hand pressed between his brows like thinking hurt. Considering the things he must have been thinking _about_, it probably did. "I can't _do _that, I …"

"I know." Izaya nodded. "I know you _can't_, right now. Maybe the question shouldn't be whether you can, but whether you _want _to."

Shizuo stared at him, blinked, as though he'd only just truly noticed Izaya was there.

Maybe he had.

"I don't know."

"Well, that's better than 'no', ne?" He pushed himself up at that, fairly certain that if he stayed where he was staring at Shizuo's mouth, he'd end up doing something foolish again and he didn't have the stomach to try fixing it a second time. There was only so much honesty he could take for one evening. For one _lifetime_. "But don't leave, hm? It'd be a waste to throw away all the effort you've put in so far. I'll back off, I swear." Holding his hands up, he did just that, backing away from the couch. "So just… sleep on it, ne?

Shizuo watched him for a moment, before he eyes shifted to the bag on the couch.

_Don't go…_

"Okay. But just…" Under any other circumstances, Shizuo's obvious discomfort would have been cute. And possibly, blackmail material, if the camera on Izaya's phone had been good enough to catch that flush on the blonde's cheeks in the dim light. "Don't go expecting shit, okay? If I decide to stay."

Izaya laughed as he turned for his room, assured – for now, at least – that Shizuo would definitely be there in the morning. "Ah, Shizu-chan, that's the last thing I'd do when it comes to you. There's just no point."

He paused in the doorway, not quite looking back. "Does it make you feel better, Shizu-chan?"

"Huh?"

"The truth."

He heard a soft huff of breath, the couch creaking as he imagined Shizuo leaning back with a heavy sigh. "Not really."

"Hmm." He smiled to himself as he left the room. "That's what I thought."

* * *

><p>Okay, so he'd lied; he had expected something.<p>

He'd expected things to _change_.

Instead, he'd stumbled out of his room the following morning to find all his living room windows open, and Shizuo making a mess of his kitchen again.

"Sorry," Shizuo gestured gruffly to the windows, "I didn't realize how many I went through last night."

"It's fine." Yawning, Izaya took a seat at the counter. "Mitigating circumstances, ne?"

"Maybe. Kinda pissed, though…" Shizuo absently stirred whatever he was nuking in a pan. "I know it's not much, but I'd been trying to cut back. Some of the stuff you said that time…" He shrugged. "But I guess it wasn't ever gonna work."

"Tch, and if you give up at the first little failure, you'll never get anywhere."

"You should know." Brown eyes watched him from beneath messy blonde bangs. "Persistent damn flea…"

It was still to early for Shiki to call back – Izaya had turned his phone back on expecting an avalanche of missed call notifications; he was vaguely disappointed there were only three – but he set the phone on the counter in case, before propping his chin on his hands. "It's the only way to get the things you want, Shizu-chan."

"Yeah, well… I was thinking more along the lines of y'know, those nicotine patches or something."

Ah, so this wasn't breakfast with a side order of flirting. A pity.

"Well, we can get you some of those later if you want." He tapped a shuffly rhythm against the base of the counter with his bare toes. No, apparently that new edginess hadn't quite dissipated yet. "That is, if you're staying."

Shizuo stared at the pan until whatever was inside began hissing and fizzing and smelling like a cremation.

_Why not put my good sense on there while you're at it, Shizu-chan…?_

"If I did," the pan screeched as it was dragged off the heat, "you aren't gonna take it as… meaning anything, right?"

Izaya stopped tapping, toes curling into the cold metal crossbar of the stool instead.

Well, there was his answer, delivered with Shizu-chan's perfectly brutal, perfectly obtuse honesty.

"If that's what you want." He nodded, smiling blandly at Shizuo's charcoaled breakfast because it was better than looking anywhere else. "I told you I wasn't expecting anything, didn't I?" Feigning boredom, he waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, but if you're going to back out now over something this trivial, then I can't stop you."

In the ensuing silence, Shizuo found the nuclear accident he spooned onto his plate fascinating. Izaya didn't turn away fast enough when the blond looked up, and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry. Did you want some?"

"Of that?" Izaya wrinkled his nose. "No, thanks. I know eating things you can't even identify down to their component parts is fine for you, but I prefer knowing the things on my plate were at some point naturally occurring on planet earth."

"Tch. Smartass bastard." But he swore Shizuo turned a little green around the edges at the first mouthful. That, or the topic of conversation put him off his food. "Look… about yesterday, I—"

"No, you were right." Grabbing his phone, he hopped off the stool. "Bad timing, ne?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Then it's fine, Shizu-chan. Don't worry yourself about it." He waved the phone at the blonde. "Now if you'll excuse me I need to make a very important phone call."

Shizuo scraped the remains of his breakfast into the trash. "Yeah, okay… Oi, flea?"

"Hmm?"

"I know I said it to screw around with you, but if you, ah… y'know, need me to get out of your hair for the night or something, then I can go see Celty or…"

He earned a glare for the way that remark made him laugh, but he couldn't help it. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who wondered whether this aberration had just been brought on by not getting laid.

"No, Shizu-chan, that won't be necessary."

He was still laughing when he disappeared into his room to return Shiki's call. He could imagine the older man's face when he came on the line to the fading chuckles of Izaya's amusement.

"In a good mood this early in the morning, Informant-san?"

"Could be, Shiki-san. Could be…" Izaya shook his head. No, he really wasn't. Fortunately, there was something he could do about it. "But never mind, ne…? I've been expecting you to call."

* * *

><p>Over the next few days, he kept up the 'therapy' sessions, but what Shizuo made of them now he had no idea. The most disconcerting thing about it all was the way Shizuo just stopped asking questions. Oh, he was still wary – that much was evident in the way he'd catch Shizuo watching him, amber eyes shrewd as they quietly burned through every layer Izaya tried to wrap around himself – but there were no demands for answers, for the truth, and Izaya felt a little bereft without it. Annoying it might have been, but it had at least afforded him some advantage against Shizu-chan's unpredictability. Now he was just floundering around, as lost as he'd always been when it came to knowing what really went on in that bleached head. Because <em>something<em> was simmering in there, and it gnawed away at Izaya that he didn't know what it was.

Ah, it'd be just his luck if all he'd managed to achieve was to turn the protozoan _smart_…

The stalemate persisted to the end of the week, when he left Shizuo with some flippant excuse to go and meet Satou.

He'd told Shiki he'd dig up some dirt on Hayashi. All those megabytes of data he had sitting on his computer would _probably _suffice, but it wouldn't do any harm to see whether Satou dropped his old buddy even deeper in it..

One look at a real-live Satou only confirmed the things Izaya suspected from seeing the kid's photographs – that a man could spend an insane amount of money on designer gear and still not know class if they tripped over it. Of course, doing that would probably be painful judging from the amount of metal the kid had in his face. Really, if Izaya ever went for a piercing, it would be somewhere discreet. Satou probably set off the metal detectors at Narita when he got within ten miles of the place.

Still, if all else failed Satou could be bought. That was always a handy fall-back position.

Everyone outside the fast food restaurant stared at him as they passed, but probably not for the reasons Satou hoped. The jewellery, the clothes, the partially bleached mohawk, didn't scream 'I'm a dangerous yakuza punk' so much as it whined 'I'm a kid trying way too hard'.

Honestly, if Izaya had friends to whom this meeting might get back to, he'd be embarrassed to be seen in public with this guy. Fortunately for them both, he didn't. Neither did Satou, but at least Izaya could say he liked _himself_.

Well… all those parts not involved with Shizu-chan, anyway.

"So…" Satou chewed his burger noisily when they were seated at the furthest table from the window Izaya could find. No point _flaunting _it even if no one cared, and besides he was doing the rest of the dining public a favour; the two year old at the next table had better dining manners than Satou. Izaya busied himself with peeling the paper wrapper off Satou's discarded straw, tearing long shreds of the restaurant's logo while he pretended not to listen. "Why'd Hayashi give you my number?"

"Like I said on the phone, he thought you'd be able to help me out."

"You ain't yakuza though." Satou lowered his voice.

Izaya shook his head. "I'm freelance. That way I can pick and choose the best for what I need."

"Fucking smart, man." Satou nodded sagely. "Other people only drag you down anyway. I've been thinking about going it alone myself, lately. "

"You haven't thought about relocating? I'm sure I could put in a good word for you around here if you're interested."

"Yeah?"

"Who do you think set up Hayashi in Ikebukuro, hmm? Think it over, let me know the avenues you might be interested in. No promises, of course, but I'll see what I can do. Or maybe you could work with Hayashi again, if he's—"

"I ain't going to 'Bukuro." Satou's petulant scowl was only missing a stomping foot and a shriek of 'because it's just not fair!'. Izaya swore even the two year old looked up from its sippy cup with a disparaging stare. "The place is a fucking dive. It's worse than Ueno."

"Ah, that's understandable." Izaya grew bored unpicking the paper from his straw, gnawing on one end of it instead. "Hayashi told me about the, ah… trouble you boys ran into there last month. Makes sense you'd rather steer clear for a while."

Satou eyed him suspiciously. "He told you about that?"

"What can I say?" Izaya shrugged, smiled with all the sincerity he could muster. "Hayashi knows he can trust me."

"Huh…" Satou took another bite of his burger, wiping at the mayonnaise that dripped down his chin.

"Of course, Hayashi won't take credit for it. He says it was all Takahashi's idea."

"Would be. Gotta admit, I didn't believe those rumours about him before, but now…" Satou made a face. "Now I can believe he's into just about anything. Pervy bastard. Heh, but maybe he's learned from all the cleaning up after him we gotta do, he was pretty good at cleaning up after that night."

"Ah, not good at taking responsibility, huh? I heard that."

"Who hasn't?" Satou scoffed. "No one knows how the fuck he holds his position. Gotta have dirt on some important bastards, don'tcha think?"

"Well, there has to be some explanation for it." Izaya leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Pretty rude of him to get you caught up in all that though."

"Yeah, well…" Satou's gaze shifted. "You don't argue with him when he's that pissed off. Heh, if we hadn't gotten our asses handed to us too, it'da been funny. 'Course it was all our fault for being losers, we were getting in his way, if it wasn't for us he coulda taken the guy." Satou rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."

"Still…" Izaya tapped a discordant rhythm against the edge of the table with his straw. "He _did _show that guy, didn't he?"

"I guess. I'da never done shit like that if it wasn't Takahashi's idea. Don't get me wrong," Satou began, in a tone that promised Izaya would do just that, "I ain't homo or nothing, but…" He whistled lowly. "You gotta try it at least once, man. Pretty fucking awesome."

This one, Izaya decided, would hurt first.

"But you've heard the rumours about that guy, right?"

"That strongest man bullshit?" Satou laughed. "Yeah. That's why we didn't go after him direct."

"Oh?"

"Didn't Hayashi tell you? Aw, man, that's the best part!" Satou leaned closer. "See, Takahashi'd been pissed off for days about it, but there's no way we can get near the guy any ordinary way. Not after last time. So he figures, fine, the guy'll be pissed off if he finds out we're still hanging around, right? So why not make him come to us instead?"

That… made an irritating amount of sense. And Satou knew it; the self satisfaction in his tone betrayed that much, even though Izaya was willing to bet he'd been cowering behind Hayashi during the events themselves. He had to remind himself he was getting the version embellished with time and bravado of a job well done. But when he wasn't getting the story direct, this would have to do.

"And how did you manage that?"

"Takahashi paid off some kids to go over to him, tell him we were someplace pickin' on their buddies. Y'know, cause he'd been so damn keen to play the big hero before, he was gonna go charging into that again, right?"

Izaya couldn't help it. The laugh that escaped his lips made not only Satou, but half the restaurant look at him oddly.

_Ah, I should have known that'd be your downfall, Shizu-chan… Haven't I told you humans don't give a damn about you? And you still throw everything away for them._

"That's pretty smart." He tilted his head, smiled an unthreatening smile until Satou put the outburst down to Izaya just being strange. "So he did, I assume?"

"Yeah. Oh, he got in a shot or two, but soon as Nishimura juiced him – Hayashi's told you about that loser, right?" Satou asked. Izaya nodded. "Anyway, after that… we went and had a little fun."

"But not in 'Bukuro, right?" Because Shizuo had been heading in the other direction that night. Coming from the direction of the station. "You're not gonna stay in his territory for something like that."

"Dunno." Satou shrugged. "We didn't wanna drive far, 'cause Nishimura's crap wasn't working too well. I don't know the area, but we were someplace near the train tracks. That I remember," he laughed, "cause the trains passing by were pretty much all that got _louder _than him."

It wasn't much to go on, but it might be enough. He'd already tuned Satou out by the time the kid leaned across the table to get his attention.

"So, whatcha want me to do for you?"

_Oh, Satou-kun, you have no idea._

"You know, lemme get back to you on that one." Izaya smiled conspiratorially as he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. "You've just given me a very good idea for something, and I'm going to need a man who knows what he's doing, if you know what I mean."

"Heh…" Satou nodded, speaking around another mouthful of burger. "I hear ya. Gimme a call, yeah? And remember whatcha said about putting in a good word for me in the meanwhile, huh?" As he grinned, a chunk of half-chewed beef fell from Satou's mouth. "I can really get used to this place."

"But not Ikebukuro, ne?" Leaning down, he discretely slid a few bills under the greasy burger carton. He may as well appeal to Satou's materialistic nature, and purely on a business level this _had _been valuable information. "I'll have to remember that."

"Yeah…" He had to pause when Satou stopped chewing like he belonged in a field, and stared at his burger uneasily. "Takahashi said that guy's left town, but… I mean, he's gonna kill us if we go back, right?"

"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that." He clapped a hand to Satou's shoulder as he turned to leave, a little harder than necessary. "But still… it might be wise to watch your back, ne?"

Leaving Satou to clog his arteries at the fast food place – _be careful you don't keel over before I have my fun, Satou-san; that'd be terribly boring_– he headed for the station to catch a train to Ikebukuro.

There was no point to it, really. He didn't even know whether he stood a chance of finding the place based on Satou's vague description, but it still mattered. He wanted to see the site of Shizuo's destruction with his own eyes.

From Ikebukuro station, he made his way to the street where he'd come across Shizuo that night. There was no point heading in any other direction but back towards the railway tracks, but he had no idea where to go from there.

Well, they had a van, right? So they were driving back to Ueno. After something like that, if was Izaya, he'd want to be as close to the expressway as physically possible. But nothing south of the point where the train lines branched off fit. Too built up. Too easy to notice a drugged man being dragged from a van, even for an evening in Ikebukuro. Across the tracks it was more residential, but it still didn't seem to fit. Too quiet and congested. This had been _planned_, after all; they knew where they were going.

Besides, this wasn't about what _he'd_ do, it was about what _they'd_ done.

He sighed a little to himself; if they'd chosen to target anyone _else_, he really would have been interested in putting them to good use.

He hit up the browser on his phone as he headed south instead, searching for any commercial storage units or warehouses in the area, dismissing some for their location, others for their security until he only had a handful left.

He'd already checked and ruled out three places, by the time he found himself on a narrow street dominated by a run down apartment building and a disused warehouse, its siding rusting unchecked. No one came here much, or if they did they didn't give a damn about it. There was an old car parked outside, but it hadn't moved in a while judging from the dirt on the windscreen. Staring down the street at the railway bridge crossing right next to the building, he dialled the number associated with the owners of the unit, a satisfied smile snaking across his lips when the call diverted to a message saying the number was disconnected.

It had to be. The chain bolting the shutter of the storage unit closed looked new – probably put there by whoever owned the place now to keep kids out - and there were scratches in the rusty surface where the old chain would have been, as though someone hadn't been too particular about getting it off. As he knelt to pick the lock, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, a commuter train rattled by on the elevated Seibu Ikebukuro line.

He paused as he let the shutter roll up with a metallic creak, trying to imagine how Shizuo must have felt arriving here. Had he even known where he was, by then? Was he fighting? Was he afraid? Did he have the first idea what was coming?

_Of course not. Shizu-chan's mind doesn't work that way. _

He didn't know what he'd expected as he walked into the room. Some grisly scene, blood spattered walls and puddles of come still drying on the dirty concrete. It had been almost a month ago, and even if he'd been here the next day the place was so grimy it wouldn't have been possible to pinpoint anything.

But it _mattered_. Being here, seeing it, mattered.

They'd chosen well, unwittingly; there was little in the room that a half-lucid Shizuo could have used as a weapon in lieu of his strength. Just a few sheets of decaying plywood against the wall, and the grungy remains of an old tarp. The place smelled of damp and old gasoline, a bitter stench that caught in the back of his throat.

He tried the lights, despite the scary-looking wiring, but nothing came on. It might have been different a month ago, of course, but otherwise the only illumination came from the narrow window high on the far wall.

_Was it worse, Shizu-chan, being here in the dark and having to feel everything all the more for it?_

Che… he didn't even know for sure this was the right place. It was stupid to torture himself with those thoughts. It made no difference, anyway.

He was about to turn to leave when a flash of colour in the gloomy dark caught his eye. Frowning, he made his way over to the far corner, trying to make out what that orange thing was.

He was about five feet away when he realized.

Shizuo's phone.

He picked it up like it was a broken bird, afraid of grabbing on too tight in case the already cracked casing fell apart. There was a jagged crack right through the screen, something dark caked between the keys, and even if it wasn't broken beyond repair, the battery would be long dead.

"Shizu-chan…"

_Would you even have called for help?_

Afterwards, he might wonder if the sharp, white-hot fury that coursed through him was something like Shizuo usually felt. If it was, he might understand why Shizuo hated it so much. His body felt out of his control. His limbs wouldn't work right, every muscle wound so taut they might snap. And the only thing at hand was the phone. He wished he hadn't done it the second it slipped from his grasp, a slow-motion regret before it smashed into the rough concrete walls, shattering into pieces.

_No…_

But he couldn't _stop._

The plywood sheets came next, splintering as they broke against the floor, against the doorframe, the wall, and when they were nothing but ragged sticks, he picked them up and broke them some more. He could feel the torn edges scratching his hands open, tearing his nails, and just past the pounding in his skull he thought he could hear someone's animalistic cries.

He'd buy the place. Yeah, that would be fitting. Buy it and raze it to the ground. Or better yet, bury them here, under this filthy concrete.

The tarp ripped as he kicked at it, wide gashes appearing in the plastic until it barely moved and he was only winding himself. Staggering back, he crashed into the wall, sliding down to sit on that same dirty floor, the heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.

Drawing his hands away from his face, he watched he clean tracks sliding through the blood and dirt, and smiled hollowly as the faint sunshine through the dank little window glittered on the broken pieces of Shizuo's phone.

_Sorry, Shizu-chan. You're going to hate me after all…_

* * *

><p>For once in his weaselly life, Izaya kept his promise. No smartass comments, no outrageous flirting, no more kissing. If Shizuo didn't know better, he'd swear nothing had changed between them at all.<p>

Except that it _had_, and sometimes Shizuo didn't even know if it happened with that damn kiss or whether something had shifted in the battlefield he thought he understood long before that.

Since Izaya instigated this whole thing in the first place. Since he agreed to it, despite the fact that it was the dumbest decision he could make. Shit, coming here _at all_ was an almighty mistake, and if he'd known _then _what Izaya wanted…

He was still trying, albeit half-heartedly, to convince himself this was just the next level in Izaya's scheme. He could get his head around that. He could understand that. That was the Izaya he knew, the lying, devious flea who never did anything for anyone unless he got something out of it.

_Yeah, and maybe he is. It just isn't what you thought it was._

He knew he was being an asshole for taking that escape route Izaya offered him, but every time he tried to think about it…

It wasn't about timing. It wasn't about wanting to. Those were things that didn't even factor into it, not when it just came down to the fact he _couldn't_ give Izaya what he wanted. Not now. Maybe not ever, maybe not to _anyone_. He'd never had all that much to offer, and now… hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd touched himself in the shower or something without feeling sick. Then again, hating his body for doing some fucked up things without his permission was nothing new. It had just changed track, that was all.

He couldn't even kiss without wanting to punch something. He couldn't touch for more than a couple of minutes without that rush of panic that just made him want to run. He was broken, fucked up, and dangerous.

Even the damn flea didn't deserve that, even if he was equally messed up for wanting it in the first place.

_"Was there ever a time it would have gone down well?"_

Staring out of the window at the haze of the afternoon rush hour over Shinjuku, he tried to imagine what he'd have done if Izaya tried this _before_. If Izaya stopped in the middle of the chase one day, pinned him back against some alley wall and…

He rubbed a hand over his face, leaning away from the window to ease the sudden light-headedness.

No. Even in a time where that thought didn't claw icy tense talons down his spine, he'd have just shoved the flea off, shoved his face into the nearest solid object, and walked away.

'Cause it'd be a joke, right? Or maybe Izaya'd hit his head, or he was some kind of clone Shinra made just to piss him off. It couldn't be real, because that made a mockery of everything he thought he knew. The sky was blue, rain was wet, and Izaya Orihara hated the ground he walked on.

_So why isn't it a joke now? If it is, it's not fucking funny…_

Either way, he had to find the guts to be honest. Even if it turned out Izaya wasn't serious after all, even if the laugh was on him all along, he wasn't going to string anyone along with promises he couldn't deliver.

The front door opened with a bang, slamming back against the entryway wall. Shizuo jumped, smacked rudely out of his thoughts. Craning his neck away from the window, he peered at the door, where a beat-up looking flea didn't even bother shrugging off his coat or kicking off his shoes. As Izaya came into the living room, the damage didn't seem so bad; he just looked smudged, dirty, and dusty.

Maybe his cell phone fell into a dumpster or something…

"What happened to you?"

Izaya just shook his head, not stopping as he came closer. Rationally, Shizuo knew he didn't need to take a step back, but he did it anyway, pretending there was nothing frightening about the intensity in Izaya's steps as he approached.

"I'm sorry," Izaya said.

Shizuo frowned. "For what?"

"For this."

He managed to suck in a breath before Izaya reached for him, hands framing Shizuo's face as he leaned up to kiss him.

It was just like he remembered. Soft. Undemanding. Fucking terrifying.

Izaya breathed a mantra of his name in between kisses, and Shizuo couldn't tell anymore which one of them he could feel shaking that badly. Maybe both of them.

_Maybe he's as scared as I am. _

Except Izaya wasn't scared of anything, and in that moment Shizuo saw all his own faults, his flaws, his fucking _fears _opening up in front of him in a yawning black chasm. There was no way across, and the safety of the other side kept slipping further away even if he'd known how to reach for it.

He stumbled back against the window frame. Izaya went with him, murmuring frantic, stupid things while his kisses tasted like salt and dust, and maybe that was why his hand rose to Izaya's cheek, thumb brushing a smudge through the dirt.

_You're not supposed to be the one who's scared, damned flea..._

And when Izaya kissed him again, just the tip of his tongue hesitantly tracing Shizuo's lower lip, he couldn't help closing his eyes and letting him. Couldn't help but quit counting all the thoughts colliding blindly in his head when he realized it wouldn't make them stop anyway. Izaya shivered against him when Shizuo inched a clumsy hand into his hair, just holding on, lips moving against the other man's in the insecure steps of a dance he couldn't remember anymore. At least not without hurting.

He didn't know where the flea'd been. He didn't know what had happened.

All he knew was that this was his fault, somehow. So when Izaya stepped back, held out a shaky hand and said, "Come with me…?" he could only watch his own fingers curl around Izaya's ragged, bruised ones as he nodded.

"Okay."


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N - So glad you guys are still enjoying this! Thank you so much for your comments and feedback, they're all very much appreciated *hearts*.  
><em>

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 99 - 108)**_

_**Warnings: This chapter contains flashback references to rape (the italicized block towards the end of the chapter), which may be triggery for some.  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Sixteen

They were halfway across the room before he realized where they were going, and even then his feet kept moving, kept him following Izaya's back. But he'd must have tensed somehow, because those bruised fingers tightened around his own.

"It's okay. I'm not going to do anything."

Maybe not, but his body still refused to go any further than the threshold of Izaya's bedroom. His free hand gripped the doorframe, and the sudden stop made the flea stumble back a little, still not letting go of his hand.

"Even if you say that, I…"

Izaya looked back at him. "I know, but… do you want to try?"

And maybe he still wasn't sure how it had come to this, but he knew that loaded question covered a hell of a lot more than what might happen in the next few minutes. It was only moments ago that he'd resolved never to make empty promises, never pretend he could be something, _offer _something that he couldn't. But that might as well have been a lifetime ago.

He wasn't just crossing the boundary of the door; he was stepping into something he was pretty sure neither of them understood. He'd had enough of shit he didn't understand – a smart guy would have said 'no', would have chosen not to add something _this_ messed up to the overflowing inventory of everything that was already off kilter and wrong in his world.

But he wasn't smart, and if he was going to be lost, he was tired of being lost all by himself.

Wrenching his fingers free of the doorframe, he nodded. "Yeah."

Izaya let go of his hand then, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it carelessly onto a chair. The shoes came next, dropping to the floor with a thud, first one then the other. Weird, because Shizuo'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop since Izaya walked in the door… The flea stretched out on one side of his bed – another one the size of a fricking ocean liner – curling towards him, one hand extended across the empty space.

"Just this. I promise." And maybe the flea took his hesitation for not _wanting _to. Something uncertain danced across his frown, there and gone. "Please. I just…"

He should have been relieved knowing Izaya was as lost on this strange new battlefield as he was, but an unsettled flea was too fucking scary to contemplate.

"You can keep thinking of it as therapy, if you want. Just…" Tucking his other hand under his cheek, Izaya's gaze fixed on the vacant half of the bed. "I want to know you're there."

Shizuo frowned a little. "Where the hell else would I be?"

Izaya shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know."

He'd been around the flea way too long, he thought, when, sometimes, Izaya's evasive non-answers actually made sense. Besides, this was about him, somehow. Whatever set the flea off, whatever made him want this, then… if it was his fault, then it was his responsibility to fix it. He took in the smudges of dirt, the grazes. It was his responsibility to make it better.

The bed barely shifted under his weight as he sat on the edge of the mattress. He must have looked pretty stupid, his spine tense, head bowed, hands in self-conscious fists on his knees, and he couldn't really blame this on the— on anything that had happened. This was all about him not having the first fucking idea how he was supposed to act. Even the air felt uncomfortable. He was a kid again, being dressed up in a smart outfit for the first time and feeling like an imposter in an overly starched, scratchy suit.

Even if no one ever laid a hand on him, this crap was just out of his league. All that did was add a layer of fear onto a cake of awkward. It made one hell of a combination, that was for sure…

And yet Izaya did nothing, said nothing. If he closed his eyes, Shizuo could just hear the shush of the flea's breath, an easy rhythm of inhale and exhale, and without realizing it he'd matched his own breathing to the same pattern.

This couldn't be the same guy. The Izaya he knew would have been mocking, challenging. There'd be judgement masked as observation, a fucking galling sort of truth where knowing the flea was right about him and _admitting _it were two different things. He'd always preferred beating the shit out of him to that, which only made him a damned hypocrite for enjoying those rare moments when he thought maybe _he_ was the one who was right about Izaya.

_Or maybe we were both wrong, all along. _

He could feel Izaya's eyes on him – tch, when _couldn't_ he? At least there was something familiar about this – but didn't look up as he stretched out, turning on his side and propping an elbow on the soft pillows and resting his cheek on his hand. He felt a little less tense when he was the one looking down at the flea.

At least the outstretched hand resting on the rumpled sheets was something he could deal with. Izaya's fingertips didn't so much as twitch, just waited patiently for Shizuo to reach out, tentatively laying his palm against the flea's. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Izaya smile.

"Tch… you're a weird bastard, you know that?"

The smile turned into a snicker. He couldn't help but look up, although Izaya's eyes were closed, crinkled at the edges like a petted cat's. "Ah, that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Shizu-chan."

"Which just goes to prove it."

"Probably." Izaya shrugged, eyes slitting open, and even though he figured the flea wouldn't mind much, Shizuo still felt like he'd been caught staring at something he shouldn't.

When he averted his eyes, Izaya just curled his fingers tighter around his in a silent admonishment. He brushed his thumb along the grazed fingertips, feeling jagged, torn nails snag on his skin. Not the sort of injuries that came from a fist fight, it looked more as if Izaya had been hanging onto something that had been wrenched from his grip. Brows knitted, he glanced up.

"What happened?"

Izaya's fingers twitched, almost reaching for something, before relaxing again. The carmine gaze flitted away from his eyes. When no answer came, Shizuo resigned himself to never getting one – he couldn't say for sure he _wanted_ one, so he supposed it was okay – until Izaya murmured, "I found your phone."

"My…" Ice washed over him. There was only one place his phone could've been. It took a few attempts just to speak around the cloying bitterness in the back of his throat, and even then he didn't know why he bothered, his voice sandpaper rough as he unlinked his hand from Izaya's. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

"I don't know." A corner of Izaya's mouth quirked uselessly, before settling into a thin, grim line. It wasn't an answer that made him feel any better. "I just wanted to know."

Sitting up and turning away, he threaded his fingers into his hair. "That's… what the hell would you've done if they were there? What if someone was watching or…"

_What if you got hurt because of me?_

No fucking wonder he'd known this was his fault, that he was responsible for the state Izaya was in. For the things he did, the things he said. If it wasn't for him, then—

He flinched away as a hand touched his shoulder, leaving Izaya's fingers clenching at nothing but air.

"Nothing happened, Shizu-chan."

"Yeah, this time."

"_Any _time. Believe me, Shizu-chan…" There wasn't much humour in the soft, snorted laugh. "I'm not about to fall for some ridiculous trick."

If his blood wasn't already frozen and sluggish, that just made it thump painfully in his chest, made it feel oily and grimy under his skin.

Maybe Izaya knew about that too. If he'd tracked down a place Shizuo could barely remember, there probably wasn't much he didn't know by now. While a part of him wanted to know when, how, _why_ Izaya saw the need to dig up that information, wanted to know what the fuck he intended to _do_ with it, because Izaya only ever lived for information he could use, the rest of him dreaded the very same answers. It didn't matter, anyway. It wouldn't change the fact that Izaya _knew_.

It was almost as bad as that fleeting moment when he'd wondered whether Izaya had been involved. The thought of those red eyes on him, watching him at his most broken, most debased, most fucking _stupid_, made his breath hitch with dread. What good would all his fighting, all his denying do to him then, when one look just proved he was everything Izaya always said he was – a dumb, pathetic monster getting exactly what he long deserved. Past the thumping whoosh of his kicked-up pulse, he could almost hear gloating, delighted laughter.

But there wasn't any. Just their breathing, just Izaya _there_ with his personality-transplant silence, demanding absolutely nothing.

_He knows, and he still wants this._

"Don't ever do something like that again."

"All right," Izaya nodded with a placating sincerity even Shizuo wasn't gullible enough to believe. He told himself there was nothing he could do if the flea wanted to put himself in stupid, dangerous situations. Shit, a few weeks ago he'd have bought front row tickets for it. Now…

Now, something raw and new that still tried to hide in the shadows of all those broken pieces wanted nothing more than to lock the entire fucking world outside these four walls. Maybe he still didn't trust Izaya, but at least he _knew_ him. Everything out there… everything else, his own soul included, he had no fucking idea about anymore.

This had been the only constant. This relentless man, someone who slashed away at everything he'd ever done with unflinching defiance and laughed in the face of his every attempt.

He didn't even have that anymore, but that was his fault too. Izaya was only screwed up over _him_; he could still rely on the flea to be unwavering in the face of everything else. Izaya still knew how to deal with the rest of the world.

When he didn't lie back down, Izaya sat up instead, reaching for his hand.

"Shizu-chan's thinking too much again." Those narrow brows lowered over a pensive red stare. "You still don't believe me when the only answer I can give you is 'I don't know', hmm?" Izaya shook his head slightly. "But I don't. When it comes to you, I… it's so annoying, and you don't even believe me."

Shizuo half turned, easing the ache in his shoulder and finding a more comfortable position without letting go.

"I don't _get _you."

"Well…" Both hands wrapped around his, Izaya drew his hand to his lips, a warm gust of breath shivering across his knuckles as the flea purred a laugh. "In that case, we're both in trouble, Shizu-chan…"

"Oi…"

As far as protests went, it was one step down from 'uh, do you really think you should be doing that?', but Izaya wasn't paying attention anyway. After the phantom heat of his breath, it was real warmth against his knuckles when the flea pressed his lips to the joints, the tip of his tongue dipping into the valleys between.

"Are you saying 'no', Shizu-chan?" He gasped at the first flick of a warm, wet tongue against his palm. Izaya looked up at him through thick, half-mast lashes, an illusion that turned predatory eyes a dark, cherry red. "Because if you are, it's very important that you tell me."

Was he? It was impossible thinking past the kisses, past the way Izaya nipped at his fingertips, soothing the sting of the bite with slow, swirled licks. Past the way the flea looked so damn pleased with himself, in a way Shizuo had never seen before.

No, every fucking god known to man help him, he wasn't saying no, even if he really should have.

He shook his head, and warmer than the lips against his skin was the way Izaya smiled, like he'd been granted some special privilege. Like Shizuo'd done something right for once.

Since when the hell had the flea been able to smile like that, anyway? Shizuo didn't even think he knew who the man before him was anymore, just that whatever this was is was more honest than anything they'd done before. And it wasn't as though he recognized himself in the mirror anymore either.

He must have been about to say something – hell knew what, something dumb – because the breath caught in his throat when Izaya's eyes fluttered closed, lips parting around two of Shizuo's fingers and sucking them deep into his mouth. The flea's moan vibrated through his hand, and he could feel a helpless answering rumble somewhere deep in his chest. Izaya looked up at him, grazed his fingers with sharp, even teeth before hollowing his cheeks, tongue pressed flat against the digits as he drew back. The tip of his tongue pressed firmly between them as he took Shizuo in again, breath hot against wet skin.

When the tip of Izaya's tongue flicked between the juncture of his fingers, something electric jerked inside him, as though the lick had been a sweet little 'come hither' and his body said 'oh hell, yes!'. But before, when his whole being might've been on the same page, everything felt scattered. Whatever the hell his body wanted, his mind was having none of it, and his heart… his head wouldn't let it forget for too long that this was still Izaya.

Neither of them missed the tension that stiffened his arm, drew the tendons of his wrist taut. Izaya let go of his fingers, but still held his hand loosely. Lips pressed against the pulse point in his wrist, sucking softly at the racing heartbeat until Shizuo didn't know who's pounded the hardest.

Yeah, it was Izaya. But it was no fricking Izaya Shizuo'd ever known before.

"Is there…" he heard Izaya hesitate, a fucking scary thing in its own right, and was a moment away from sitting up, calling this whole stupid idea off, when the words continued. "Is there anywhere they didn't touch you?"

Anywhere they _didn't_? For the first few days, he though he could feel their hands right down to his bones, cold greasy bands that cut deeper than flesh and blood. Every time he moved, something reminded him of it; the way his clothes moved against his skin, or the sensation of pressure on his muscles. Once or twice, he'd woken up tangled too tight in Izaya's sheets and felt them holding him down, his terrified half-asleep mind braced for pain tearing up his spine and a sour, viscous taste on his tongue.

He remembered that awful fucking helplessness when the only weapon he had misfired and he finally realized that maybe normal wasn't what he'd always hoped it would be.

And he knew why Izaya asked, but he wished to hell he hadn't, because for a second there'd been nothing on his mind but the wet heat of the flea's mouth, the sounds he made, the—

"Shizu-chan?"

It wasn't even Izaya's fault, not really. Just Shizuo buried too deeply in his own head to pay attention when the flea reached out, fingers brushing against his cheek. Just too many memories of _other_ hands warring with the cool rationale he wasn't very good at to begin with.

"No…!"

Wide red eyes narrowed in a pained grimace when Shizuo's fingers bit hard into a delicate wrist, but Izaya didn't pull away. Izaya _never_ pulled away, just waited until Shizuo came back to himself long enough to do it for him.

_And what if I don't, one day? What the fuck will you do then?_

Letting go, he backed up against the headboard as though he could draw in on himself and just disappear, hands scraping roughly through his hair.

He didn't need this. He needed Izaya to be the person he'd always known him to be.

"Sorry…"

"I'm the one who should be sorry, Shizu-chan." Izaya was looking away, the hands on his lap clenched in tight fists. "That was… insensitive and thoughtless, and… Shit!"

The curse propelled him to his feet, hands laced in his hair as he paced across the room. Shizuo was too startled by the reaction to do much besides stare, scrambling to figure out what part of this had pissed Izaya off most. How he'd pissed Izaya off, when all he'd been trying to do was….

_What the hell_ were _you trying to do? Prove to yourself you're over it, you can deal with this? Or prove to him he doesn't need to pull this crazy, reckless crap he's been doing?_

Shit.

"Hey… it's okay." Even though the adrenaline hit had the room swaying a little, he tried to focus on forming sounds, words, sentences. Real shit, not the nightmares replaying in his head. It worked enough to let him breathe again, and that was enough for now. "You just surprised me. We can try it again and—"

Izaya shook his head. "No. I'm not touching you while I feel like this. I don't want you associating my touch with being angry."

Well, that made sense, but… Izaya looked at him sharply when Shizuo couldn't help snorting a quiet laugh. "Flea, before all this I never touched you in anything but anger. We got by okay."

"You have a strange definition of okay, Shizu-chan." But at least Izaya was smiling a little.

And maybe he did. Now and then he could actually remember how being okay felt. That weird, taken for granted feeling of not thinking of anything in particular.

"Yeah well, you must've liked it, as much as you kept coming back for another round."

And he'd done something wrong again, because Izaya stared at him, eyes wide and vaguely horrified. Maybe he was finally seeing the same thing Shizuo saw when he looked in the mirror.

_Monsters deserved everything they got. _

"Anyway… we should probably leave it there, ne?" Izaya swung his legs off the edge of the bed, getting to his feet. "That was further than I intended to push you this time, so… yeah, best to leave it there."

It was. It was better to have never done it at all, but hey… damage done, right?

So why did the memory of Izaya's kiss still cut clean and sharp through the panic, as sure as the edge of a blade? When it had probably been better, _safer_, to fail at this as spectacularly as he just had, did he wish Izaya never brought them up at all? Why the fuck hadn't Izaya just let him pretend, even for a little while…

_Pretend I'm not that bad._

He let his head thump back against the sharp edge of the headboard, the breath still shaking in his lungs as he tried to blink away the sting at the back of his eyes.

This was why he should've been honest. This was why he should never have kissed back, should never have given in just because he thought it was what Izaya wanted. What the hell was the point? He was still a fucking mess, and Izaya was probably thinking no amount of entertainment at Shizuo's expense was worth dealing with this anymore.

_But at least he knows now. At least he knows I've got nothing to offer anyone, so he can just forget about it and move on._

Dragging a hand over his face, pleased that his vision stopped blurring, he stared up at the ceiling.

Yeah, it was better that way. Pretending only hurt, anyway, and he was done with that.

When he found the nerve to leave the room, Izaya was already at his desk, riveted to something on the screen as he tapped away at the keyboard. After a while, he plucked a pen drive from the side of the laptop, stuffing it in his pocket as he closed the screen down and stood. He glanced at Shizuo briefly, lips parting before snapping shut, thinking better of whatever he was going to say.

Good. He didn't need an interrogation right now.

Brushing past him without ever quite touching, Izaya disappeared back into the bedroom for a moment. When he came back out he was shrugging into his coat. The glare of his cell phone illuminated a tense profile.

"You're going somewhere?" And fuck, was that really his voice, that small, thready thing?

"Work." Izaya didn't even pretend he'd noticed. "Something's come up."

Work. Right. More like on the phone right now to one of the convenient lovers he must keep on tap; Shizuo still remembered what the louse was like in high school. And no doubt none of them would turn him away. None of them would be too broken to touch him.

"I might be late," Izaya said, as though he owed Shizuo an explanation. "Don't worry about it if I'm not back, all right?

"Yeah," he began, though the door was already closing on his answer. "Wasn't planning on it."

* * *

><p>The passers-by on the street spared him odd glances as he stalked towards the train station, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them from lashing out at anyone who so much as looked at him wrong. Even the awareness that he was surrounded by his precious, endlessly fascinating humans did little to temper the need to beat one of them senseless just to slake the frustration.<p>

What the hell was _that?_

Where, in his perfectly crafted plan, was the answer to "you must've liked it, as much as you kept coming back for another round" to smile and say "No, I came back because I liked you, Shizu-chan"?

Izaya rubbed at his lips as though they'd actually spoken such treacherous words aloud. Hadn't he decided this was all a mistake? Shizuo'd brushed him off, it had been foolish in the extreme to push for something again when it was obvious the other man didn't want nor was capable of giving him what he wanted. Wouldn't, couldn't, it was irrelevant – all he'd wanted to do in that moment was make Shizuo happy, make him forget, make him smile, and that…

That wasn't who he was. That wasn't what they were about. He was going to all this trouble to get Shizuo back, not to lose himself along the way.

When had he lost control? Was it the kiss? Was it the storage unit? Was it the disgusting things Satou said?

Was it the first time he ever laid eyes on Shizuo Heiwajima?

Whatever it was, Shizuo's reaction was the proverbial bucket of ice water, making him back off. Whether it was the trauma of the rape or just the trauma of Izaya making a play for him, Shizuo was still in no position to know what he wanted.

_And maybe you just know that when he is, he won't want you._

But it lingered, that horrible yearning to do something, _anything_ that would make Shizuo feel better. The same feeling that had welled up in that storage unit, part blind fury at the ones who took Shizu-chan from him, and part… honestly, he wasn't sure _what_ it was. It was very new, that emotion that turned the time between leaving the unit and seeing Shizuo again – seeing that he was safe, and _there_, and maybe not okay but at least trying to be – into a vague blur. Nothing else had mattered, except that driving need to reaffirm the fact Shizuo was still his, somehow.

His fingers curled around the pen drive in his pocket as he got off the train at Ikebukuro, the other hand hitting Shiki's number on speed dial on his cell.

He couldn't make Shizuo happy any other way, that was obvious by now. But this… this he could still do.

It was never a good idea to show up unannounced with the Awakusu, but the moment he dropped Hayashi's name, Shiki agreed to meet him. Evidently, for all his incompetence, Hayashi was proving to be a pest to the Awakusu, but in the event that he wasn't a high priority, he'd taken the liberty of adding a few new details to the data he'd collected, citing some plans Hayashi had to threaten the Awakusu directly. Tch, Hayashi was greedy, he'd have reached that point by himself sooner or later. Izaya just gave him a little nudge, that was all.

He waited in the back room of one of the group's clubs while Shiki finished business elsewhere. The older man dismissed his ubiquitous bodyguards at the door, walking over and slouching into the leather couch opposite.

"You said you had the information I requested about our little problem?"

"I did." He pushed the pen drive across the coffee table. "I think you'll find everything you need here. Feel free to check it before I leave, if you like."

"That won't be necessary." Shiki shrugged. "Payment in the same way, Informant-san?"

"Actually," Izaya leaned forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees, "just this once I'm willing to accept a trade instead."

"Oh?" Shiki narrowed his eyes. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's a Wakahisa executive called Takahashi. Ever heard of him?"

"Might have," Shiki watched him, a little amusement weaving through the curiosity, as though a pet just did something unexpectedly entertaining. "Depends what you want to know."

"He has… interesting predilections." According to Satou, anyway, even though Izaya hit an infuriating wall of nothing every time he tried to investigate what they might be. Takahashi had friends in high places, that was obvious – from everything else Izaya knew about him, he was too hot-headed to be responsible for wiping his tracks this well, so it stood to reason that someone else was doing it for him. Who, and why, might just be his way in.

"So they say."

"You see, that's my problem. A lot of hearsay, nothing much in the way of fact." Izaya frowned at the pen drive, recalling his conversation with Satou. "Are the Wakahisa that good at clean-up?"

"That, I couldn't tell you. But they tend to turn a blind eye when it comes to Takahashi."

"Why? What does he have on them?"

Shiki lit a cigarette, exhaling a contemplative cloud of smoke at the already stained ceiling. Izaya wrinkled his nose, the scent accosting his senses as if he hadn't spent the past month living with a chain smoker.

No, it really wasn't the cigarettes he was getting used to…

"There are a few rumours. But it's just as likely they let him do as he pleases because he's done a lot to turn their fortunes around lately. He's touted for big things within the organization, so they're willing to overlook some things, and, well… they've never had very high standards."

"Yeah…" Izaya thought about the idiots he'd met so far. "I can certainly believe that."

"Why so interested in the Wakahisa, anyway?"

"Ah, a current client of mine has some issues with them. I said I'd dig around and see what I could find out."

"I see." Shiki regarded him for a moment, before stubbing out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the table. "They're not like us. They've become desperate in recent years, and someone like Takahashi feeds on it." Shiki took a pen out of his pocket, scribbling a number on the back of a business card. "I'm not sure why you'd be interested in someone like him, but…" He pushed the card across the table, mirroring what Izaya had done with the drive in perfect exchange. "That guy might know some of the people who pick up Takahashi's playmates."

Izaya drew the card towards him along the polished surface with one finger, silver ring glinting in the dim light. "Then consider this payment in full, Shiki-san."

"Heh. You're easily satisfied today."

"I am. You're lucky." Smiling, Izaya pocketed the card as he got to his feet. "Besides, when it comes to my finances, I have an investment that's going to pay off nicely in the near future so I can afford to be generous."

"Oh, really? Who are you working for this time?"

"Ah, you should know better than to ask me to discuss my other clients, Shiki-san. At least, not without paying for it first. Why do you ask, anyway?"

"Because you haven't been this single-minded in a while. If it's something that'll interfere with our business, then—"

Izaya laughed. "Single-minded, hmm? I suppose you could say that. But no, you don't need to worry, Shiki-san. There's no conflict of interest here."

"Good. Look… the Wakahisa haven't packed much clout in a long time. Whatever they're doing now, I don't see it doing much to change that. But for all his tendencies, Takahashi isn't someone to take lightly. If you manage to find yourself on his radar, then I'd be prepared to take care of it immediately, if I were you."

"I'm not on his radar."

"Heh, cocky as usual."

"Maybe," he nodded as he strolled towards the door. "But my client deserves no less."

Shiki's voice stopped him with one hand on the doorknob.

"You're sure this information's right? 'Cause you know what's gonna happen to the guy, right? You sure you can deal with that?"

Izaya closed his eyes, saw a trembling Shizuo flinching from his touch.

"Yes," he said, feeling calmer than he had in days as he opened the door and left the room. "I can."

He stopped off at the same bar on the way home, just to kill some time. The blond host wasn't there. Just as well; this strange blend of anger, frustration and yes, maybe a little touch of fear wasn't conducive to making wise decisions. His entire day was proof of that. If someone offered him something tonight…

He left before anyone could. Testing his will power now _couldn't _be a good idea.

And maybe, in the anonymous glare of neon-washed Shinjuku streets, he could admit albeit just to himself, that Shizuo might be right. Maybe he was tired of running too. This time, if Shizu-chan chose to leave then Izaya wouldn't stop him. And if Shizu-chan asked for the truth again, then…

A few people turned his way when he laughed out loud, face upturned to the shimmering streetlights.

Well, okay, perhaps he wouldn't go _that _far. But he was certainly done avoiding his own home just in case those words worked themselves loose of their ruthless tethers anyway and made fools of them both.

He turned on the lights when he arrived back at the apartment, but there was no one waiting for him in the dark. Neither was there a note and his spare key on the kitchen counter, so all in all he chalked it up to a win. If Shizuo hadn't left the first time Izaya kissed him, well…

It was horribly cruel, though, he smiled wryly to himself as he shrugged off his coat and toed off his shoes, only now realizing he'd gone to see Shiki looking as though he just climbed out of a garbage truck. Horribly cruel, staying and pretending something might come of it. If it was anyone else, he'd say they were doing it on purpose, giving him a taste of his own medicine, but that wasn't Shizu-chan's style. Too simple-minded, too naïve to even think that way.

"So what am I supposed to make of that, hmm…?" Making his way to Shizuo's door with careful, silent steps, he released the breath he'd been holding when the city lights illuminated the occupied bed. "What am I supposed to make of the way you _stay_, even though I'm me, and you're you, and this is…"

Nothing. Everything. All those unspoken, unacknowledged things in between.

The urge to just climb onto that bed and curl up behind the blond was such a tangible thing, his body trembled with the need to move closer. He compromised, kneeling at the side of the bed to watch the blonde's face, making sure he didn't block out the light. Shizuo was frowning again, dark furrows creasing his brow.

_Dreaming of me, Shizu-chan? _

He chuckled silently to himself. No, Shizuo would probably twitch and whimper like a puppy when he dreamed, imagining he was chasing Izaya through Ikebukuro in his sleep. Maybe that was the only place that world existed now.

If Shizuo woke up now, instinct and reflex would probably leave Izaya with a broken nose, but it was a risk worth taking just to feel the soft rhythm of the blonde's breathing. He frowned a little at the tightness around Shizuo's eyes, curling his hands into tense fists to keep from brushing a fingertip along dark lashes just to see if they'd relax a little if he did.

There wasn't much point lying anymore, even to himself, but it was hard to overcome a lifetime's conditioning that quickly.

"But if you ask me again, Shizu-chan…" He traced one fingertip, whisper-gentle, along a lock of blond hair that fell across Shizuo's forehead, as much of a goodnight kiss as he dared before getting up and backing out of the room. "You'll probably leave anyway, but… if you ask me again, I promise I'll tell you why."

* * *

><p>Shizuo would've liked to say everything went back to normal after that, except he suspected 'normal' was defined by how much they skirted around each other, how much they lied, how much they bit back all the things they had to say. Probably there was some kind of scientific theory for it, some kind of natural law to do with the ratio of evasiveness to the amount of Izaya's crap he could tolerate. Either way, he was starting to think the Izaya he'd been with the other day had been some kind of stress induced hallucination. He'd been an idiot for thinking, maybe…<p>

Tch. He was an idiot for _thinking_, period. It never worked out for him.

Anyway, Izaya only had eyes for his work. Real work, or as real as it got for someone who dealt in crap that probably _wasn't_, not the kind Shizuo still half-believed Izaya indulged in the other night. He had no idea when the flea got home, just that he was his usual, batshit annoying self the next morning, up way too early and acting like nothing had happened.

Maybe nothing had. Maybe it'd all been his imagination…

"_I want to know you're there."_

Damn it…

_So why the hell did you just run away again, goddamn flea…_

He'd been flicking through the channels while Izaya worked, too preoccupied to really concentrate on anything for longer than fifteen seconds at a time, when something on a news channel he'd skipped past made him backtrack.

The scene on the screen was of some nondescript warehouse district somewhere by the docks. A couple of police cars were parked at angles outside the open doors, and an ambulance backed up halfway inside the building. As the glossy reporter, too made-up and over-styled to be in such a grimy setting, spoke into the camera, a draped body was wheeled out of the dark and loaded with little ceremony into the back of the ambulance.

"First reports indicate the murder was gang related," the reporter said, and Shizuo was about to shrug and move on when a photograph flashed up on the screen.

_No… It can't be…._

"Eiji Hayashi, twenty-eight and currently residing in Ikebukuro, was already sought by police on drug dealing charges. Cause of death remains unknown at this time, however eyewitnesses report the deceased had a single gunshot wound to the head. Police are appealing for information."

The reporter kept talking, but Shizuo stopped listening around the same time his heart lurched to a standstill and then kicked into overdrive at the unflattering mug shot on the screen.

Last time he saw that face…

…_he can't remember how long it's been going on for. A tiny, frightened part of his mind is still functional, hiding like a child with its hands over its ears, humming a discordant, grating tune to drown out reality. If he doesn't pay attention, if he doesn't believe it's happening, then it can't be true, right?_

_But it is. And he's reminded of that every time they switch over, and just when he thinks he's numb, that it can't possibly hurt any more, one of them slams in harder and faster than before._

_"Heh, he's really into it now, huh?" Someone says. "Opening up like a fucking whore."_

_Nausea rises at the thought of it. It doesn't feel like opening up. It feels like he's being ripped apart from the inside out, turned out raw and fucked all over again. Their touch – he has to keep thinking it's just touch – burns like battery acid on skin scraped sore with friction. He swallows the rising bile, only for the bitter taste in his mouth to make him gag again, copper and sour salt._

_"If you want something to do with your mouth…" Beady eyes come into focus when his head's yanked up. "I can help you out, prettyboy."_

_He gags again at the half hard cock thrust between his lips, but no one gives a shit. No one stops, no one even pays attention. He cries out as whoever's inside him pulls out, but the hand in his hair just tightens. "Hey, hey, ain't nice to stop like that, prettyboy." Fingers grip his jaw, forcing his mouth open again, but when he looks up through hot stinging tears the man isn't looking at him, he's grinning off at something behind him. Shizuo tenses but the fingers holding his mouth open just dig in harder, making it hard to breathe._

_"Hey, no one ever said we'd be doing this…" The voice behind him sounds hesitant. A little afraid, and when he closes his eyes, feeling sick and ashamed at the tears he can feel on his cheeks he wants to rail and scream and fight and ask why the hell they're afraid when it's him being…_

_"Come on, man. You're not some pussy like this poor bastard, are ya?" The man in front of him times rough thrusts to emphasize his words, though whether it's for him or the other guy he's past telling. "Gotta show fuckers like this their place, y'know? Ain't like it's gonna make you queer or nothin'. Heh, he's better than girls, lemme tell you."_

_"Yeah?" The hands on him feel a little hesitant too. Different to the others, anyway. But the more the man fucking his throat keeps talking, the more those hands change, gripping more purposefully. So he's really not surprised when the first vicious thrust just tears him open again, pain screaming down to his knees, up to his neck._

_"Yeah, see?" The man laughs. "Still so damn tight after all this, it's fucking awesome."_

_"He won't be for long," someone else says, joining in the laughter. "Are you looking forward to that, Heiwajima-san? I'll make sure you're in diapers for the rest of your life, we'll see how good you are at fucking up other people's business then."_

_"Heh," hands grab his hair again as the man grunts. "S'gonna take a while…"_

_"Don't worry, we have all night. Right, Heiwajima-san? Or since we're close friends now, I could probably call you-"_

"Shizu-chan?"

He hadn't heard Izaya cross the room, hadn't felt the flea leaning on the back of the couch. The awareness startled him so badly, the remote control slipped from his fingers, bouncing along the cushions. He couldn't breathe, heart galloping in his chest so fast it couldn't even hold a regular rhythm.

"Are you okay?"

"Is this…" Sucking in what breath he could, he gestured at the screen, too terrified to know for sure. "Did you do this?"

"Hmm?" Izaya watched the broadcast for a moment, gaze scanning the rolling text across the bottom of the screen. "I think Shizu-chan's confused; I may offer my services to certain groups, but I don't work with, or for them. What the yakuza do has nothing to do with me."

The screen shut off with a hushed click, the picture fading to black. Leaning over the back of the couch, Izaya dropped the remote back onto the cushions with a smile.

"Anyway, the news is so depressing, don't you think? You shouldn't be watching that."

Izaya disappeared back to whatever he'd been doing prior to the interruption, but Shizuo kept staring at the empty screen as though the images were still there. His body calmed once the looping replay of memories dissipated, but his mind still raced.

Izaya already knew about Nishimura. Now this Hayashi guy was dead, probably courtesy of the yakuza. An image sidled into his thoughts, of Izaya and his pen drive, that suddenly important business he had to attend to the other day.

_You did. You must have done. Oh, fuck, flea…_

"How does it make you feel?" Izaya's voice came from the vicinity of his desk, sounding awfully casual.

He wasn't feeling anything. Even the couch under his hands felt a million miles away, something he was only watching from a distance, as real and as utterly fake as the images he'd seen on the television screen. When he spoke, it came from far away, detached and depersonalized like a dream.

"I don't know."

Not about this Hayashi bastard, anyway. He wasn't some fucking martyr, he wasn't going to lie and say he wasn't stupidly glad this guy wouldn't hurt anyone else, even though…

_I should have done this; I should have taken care of it a long time ago. It was my responsibility, and I just hid here and…_

"Well, you did say bad karma wins out in the end, ne?"

"Yeah… yeah I guess I did."

But he'd meant his, not Izaya's. And if this was the flea's doing – it had to be, somehow – then not only had he failed in his duty to take care of his own problems, he'd forced Izaya to do it in his stead. Izaya 'I never dirty my hands' Orihara, going this far for him…

And it wouldn't stop. Somehow, while he'd been off-planet having his little pity party, Izaya had tracked them all down, set them up, and… this wouldn't be the last time he saw their face on the news. If the flea kept on like this, if he wound up hurt too, then…

_I'm not worth that. You of all people can see that, can't you?_

He'd thought he was doing an okay job convincing Izaya he was fine, that this wasn't necessary. Obviously he'd been wrong. And he couldn't take responsibility for the other crap – not yet, anyway – but he could stop Izaya from falling deeper into the dark along with him.

He had to do something. He had to make Izaya see he didn't have to do this anymore.

"Oi, flea…"

"Hmm?"

He stood from the couch, vaguely surprised that his knees didn't just give in on him before he could walk over to the flea's desk. Izaya looked up at him, waiting.

"That… the stuff we did, the other day?" He watched something flicker across Izaya's gaze at that, and went on before he lost the nerve to say, "I want to try it again."


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N : Thanks for all the feedback, everyone! *hearts* Though, um... *weak smile* if you're _really_ against cliffhangers, I may not be the best writer for your frustration levels. They don't get any better. XD_

_Also, I don't know if you've noticed the chapters getting longer - some of the later chapters are 10k plus (for I am too wordy OTL and it's gonna take a while to format those), so let me know if you'd prefer I cut them down into more manageable lengths? That would mean that they don't correspond exactly to the original chapters on my LJ though, so that might get confusing for folks reading there.**  
><strong>_

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 109 - 119)**_

_**Warnings: Starting to earn the rating now... Not sure if this counts as Shizaya or Izuo, though, since it's rather... non-contact ;)  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Seventeen

_I want to try it again._

Funny how quickly the tables were turned. Now he was the one on the receiving end of an outstretched hand and a demand neither of them knew how to handle. How much it cost Shizuo to stand there, one trembling hand held out for him, Izaya couldn't even contemplate. There was a look in those brown eyes, whenever they stayed on his face long enough, that made him think Shizuo was braced for another betrayal, was waiting for him to laugh and declare the past few weeks had been nothing but an elaborate joke.

The worst part was that there was a time, not that long ago, where he'd have been tempted to do just that. A time when seeing that crushing dismay on Shizu-chan's face right before he hefted something inordinately heavy Izaya's way would've made his week. Would've reaffirmed every belief he'd neatly compartmentalized.

But someone got there before him, and when it came down to it, seeing what he'd always believed would make him ridiculously happy was nothing like he'd imagined. Maybe things would have been different if this had all happened by his hand, but like this…

It didn't make him happy at all.

"Tch…" Shizuo scrubbed shaky fingers through his hair when Izaya didn't respond, hand lowering, beginning to turn away. "Forget it, I—"

"No." He caught the edge of a shirtsleeve before Shizuo pulled away completely. "We can try again, if that's what you really want."

Shizuo watched him, still waiting for the dig Izaya clearly couldn't make him understand wasn't coming. Understandable, really, but no less frustrating for it. After a moment or two, he just nodded gruffly, and looked away. "Yeah."

"Okay."

He got up from the desk chair without letting go of Shizuo's sleeve. It was awkward, and probably made him look like a four year old, but he knew that if he let go now he might as well be letting go of whatever tenuous faith Shizuo had in this.

Not in _him_, he knew that, but in this odd little sanctuary they'd created. Sometimes he didn't blame Shizuo for wanting to just lock himself up in here and never face the world again. There was something horribly tempting about staying here forever, even like this.

Shizuo headed for his own room – when, exactly, had he stopped thinking of it as the guest room, and started thinking of it as Shizuo's room? – and Izaya supposed that was for the best. If things went badly again, at least he could slip out quietly and give the blond space. He laughed shortly at that; ironic, really, when he'd spent so long making sure he was getting _into_ Shizu-chan's personal space, as often and obnoxiously as possible.

He felt safe enough to release his hold once they were in the bedroom. Shizuo walked in with faltering steps, and Izaya he followed slowly, lingering in the doorway.

"Do you want me to close the door, or…"

Shizuo shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from him. "Doesn't matter."

Izaya left it open. He didn't want Shizuo to feel trapped. Caged beasts were always more dangerous.

Sitting on the other side of the bed, he stared at his hands in his lap and waited.

It was all because of the news report, he knew that much. What escaped him was _why_. While he'd been dancing an internal jig at the news of Hayashi's more than timely demise, he couldn't quite follow the protozoan logic from that, to this. Even in the privacy of his own mind, the thought that maybe Shizu-chan was just secretly kinky fell a little flat.

_He might have been. Neither of us will ever know._

"Flea?"

He shook his head, smiling a wry apology, turning to sit cross-legged on the bed. "How do you want to do this?"

From the way he tensed in Izaya's peripheral vision, Shizuo hadn't given that part much thought. He tried to remind himself how much of a struggle it must have been just to ask, just to get this far. If it was him… he directed the humourless smile at the sheets rumpling beneath him. No, he was still back at the stage where getting the words out was on the same level as asking a firing squad to take out your kneecaps _before_ they put a bullet through your skull.

Heh, if he was lucky, maybe Shizu-chan would never ask. After all, he doubted such a notion ever crossed that simple, straightforward mind.

"Uh… my legs."

Izaya blinked at the non-sequitur, too lost in his own thoughts to remember whether he'd asked a question. "Hmm?"

"The other day, you asked…" Shizuo's gaze was everywhere except on him. "I don't remember anyone touching my legs."

That made sense, he supposed, although the suggestion that they'd touched everywhere _else_ made his hands clench into fists on his lap, an echo of that useless rage he'd felt in the storage unit fizzing through his blood. Shizuo wasn't even looking at him, but he forced himself to relax. He'd allowed himself to get carried away before. It would be the perfect excuse never to try again if it happened this time.

"Okay," he nodded. "That's, ah… That's okay, ne? It's a good place to start."

Shizuo stiffened a little at 'start', before flexing his shoulders, working the tension out. "Yeah…"

"Do you want to…?" He began, because unless Shizuo decided to move, then Izaya would have to get on his knees and… he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He wasn't entirely sure how to process the sudden need to do exactly that. But Izaya Orihara didn't kneel for anyone, did he? Not even this man. He'd always prided himself on being the one at the top of the heap, looking down. Monsters, humans, it didn't matter. If he was above them, they couldn't touch him.

When he closed his eyes, Technicolor images flashed across the dark canvas of his eyelids: broken phones; dark, grimy corners; every single instance of Shizuo's eyes widening when Izaya touched him.

The mattress shifting under him made him open his eyes, and he figured he got his answer when disappointment flickered through him as Shizuo awkwardly, hesitantly swung his bare feet onto the bed, shifting back against the pillows. Izaya dreaded to imagine what must have shown on his face when Shizuo frowned at him, before lowering his gaze. "Is this okay?"

"Ah…" _Shouldn't that be my question?_

Shizuo held himself very still as Izaya moved closer, feet tucked under as he knelt in front of the blond. He watched Shizuo's face for a trace of uncertainty, a trace of _anything_ as he reached out to touch.

Asking Shizuo to take off his pants was out of the question. Fortunately, the soft, loose sweatpants he wore made it easy to bunch the material at his knees. Shizuo shivered as he did so, hands clenched in the sheets at his side and Izaya couldn't help the little flare of mirth. Was this 'I don't like being touched' anxiety, or the common or garden variety 'what the fuck is that damn flea gonna do to me now?' kind?

"Relax," he found himself saying, a little surprised that the words left no bitter aftertaste. "You're the one in control, ne? This is just like all those times before. It stops when you say it stops."

Shizuo watched him for a moment, a storm raging in his eyes before he finally nodded curtly. "Do it."

There were better places Shizuo might want him to touch, but not many. And that this was all he could get right now just heightened his awareness of what he was doing.

He thought his restraint had endured well, given the circumstances. Hard as it was watching the blond lounge around his apartment knowing he couldn't touch even if he'd had a moment of madness and _wanted_ to. Permission to do just that – permission, and the knowledge he was absolved of all blame because this had been Shizu-chan's idea – was heady.

And now, faced with it, he had no idea where to start. Shizu-chan was no help; when Izaya glanced up, the other man's eyes were squeezed closed, jaw twitching with tension. Not the look of a man who was looking forward to anything.

He decided to start at Shizuo's ankles, fingertips tracing delicate bones beneath soft, thin skin. Shizuo's hard swallow was audible in the silence, but he didn't flinch. Encouraged, Izaya stroked again, drawing loopy figure-of-eights from the protruding ankle bones to the smooth, warm plane just above Shizuo's toes.

Just like before. Different limbs, but the procedure was the same, and the familiarity seemed to soothe Shizuo too. His eyes remained closed, but his breathing evened out a little.

He'd almost expected more bulk. This was the fortissimo who'd chased him along sheer walls, after all. But Shizuo's legs were as long and graceful as they looked wrapped up in tailored dress pants. Solid, Izaya thought, squeezing just behind Shizuo's ankles, but nothing that especially gave away the things the blond was capable of.

Shizuo tensed when he ran his hands up the back of strong calves, feeling the warm, toned muscle twitch beneath his palms. This wasn't like touching Shizuo's hands anymore; getting to pet a prowling big cat must feel like this, and before he even realized what he was doing – before either of them realized – Izaya leaned forward, lips brushing against Shizuo's shin as he stroked the vulnerably satiny skin behind his knees.

"Oi…"

But he didn't want to stop, and Shizuo didn't sound _that_ desperate for him to either. He had his lips pressed to legs that could kick trucks across the street; if Shizuo wanted him to stop it wouldn't take a lot of effort. He heard Shizuo's breath hitch when he lowered his head, this time dragging a lick from the crease of the blond's ankle to just below his knee. Satisfied he'd been right, he glanced up, meeting a faintly beleaguered caramel stare and asked anyway.

"Is this okay?"

"I…" Shizuo shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well then, is it _bad_?"

Another shake. "No…"

There were scars, he realized a little belatedly. Old scars, barely more than pale ridges against golden skin, worn almost imperceptible by age. One cut a jagged path from halfway up one side of Shizuo's calf to disappear into the rucked up edge of his sweatpants. Izaya's tongue traced it as far as he could, tongue dipping just beyond the fabric.

"Flea…"

He turned his attention to the other leg, mapping a different set of scars. This one had a messy looking mark low on his shin, and a newer knotty scar curving across the top of Shizuo's knee. He lavished attention to both, until the blond's breathing was shallow and fast.

He wasn't sure when it ceased to be about 'therapy' and started being solely about wanting to taste, to explore, to feel the heat of Shizuo's skin under his lips. If he pressed his fingers to the warmth behind Shizuo's knees, he could feel the strong thud of a quickening heartbeat.

Shizuo made a soft stuttering sound when he turned his head, nuzzling the crease of the scarred knee, tongue darting out to lick at the curve of a strong tendon. It quivered under his kiss, or Shizuo did, Izaya couldn't tell. Neither could he help the content noises reverberating in his throat at his ministrations, foolishly pleased with himself.

Che… no, the only foolish thing was to imagine any circumstance in which this man _wasn't_ dangerous to him, one way or another. He smiled against a warm pulse point, certain _that_ realization never crossed Shizuo's mind either.

He raked his nails lightly against the skin as he ran a hand back down Shizuo's calf, following the path with butterfly kisses, licking now and then, nipping playfully when he reached Shizuo's ankle. Tracing wet patterns against fragile skin, he blew across the damp marks, hiking Shizuo's leg a little higher to brush kisses back up towards his knee, hands still massaging his ankles in a slow rhythm. Too caught up in what he was doing, in the simple act of rolling the taste and the scent of the blond's skin over his senses, he almost missed the way Shizuo sat up straighter, gasping a sound that was partway warning growl, partway whimper.

And if he had missed it, if his gaze hadn't been automatically drawn up, he might not have noticed the way Shizuo's sweatpants pulled just a little more tautly between his thighs.

"Oh," he said intelligently, thoughts careening. Maybe it had been his intent, deep down, but it hadn't really occurred to him to wonder how Shizuo would react, or even whether he _could_. One look at the horrified caramel eyes that stared at him, and he decided neither had Shizuo. "It's okay, I mean that's—"

"Enough." Shizuo's voice was rough as he pushed him away, knees drawing up to his chest. He didn't bother pulling the fabric down, and for a moment Izaya just watched the paths of shining saliva dry on Shizuo's skin, the glimmering wetness fading. The proof he'd been there at all. "I'm not…"

When he looked up, a deep red flush stained Shizuo's cheeks and his shuttered stare was off somewhere by the open door.

"Shizu-chan…"

"I said enough."

"There's nothing wrong with it, you know. You're allowed to feel good." He canted his head, smiled a little forced. "That's usually the point."

"I don't want to." Voice tight and shaking with a million things Izaya couldn't begin to name, Shizuo shook his head. "I don't…"

_Deserve it._

Tch…

"Fine."

Retreating back to the other side of the bed, he watched Shizuo's gaze snap back his way, eyes widening as Izaya unbuckled his own belt.

"Just because we can't touch doesn't mean we can't have fun, ne?"

* * *

><p>Shit…<p>

Shizuo didn't know where to look. Not at Izaya, not at himself. His heart pounded, his head spun, and his skin still prickled and tingled where Izaya's mouth touched him.

What the fuck was wrong with the flea? What the fuck was wrong with _him_?

At no point in the past few weeks had he even considered it. Barely even thought about it. About… touching himself again. For the first few days, just the idea of being naked in the shower, accidentally brushing a hand against himself was enough to make the fucking room spin, and ever since…

Just those brief moments when he wondered what, exactly, Izaya wanted from him. When he knew with a furious certainty that whatever it was, he didn't have it in him to give it anymore, and even then it was less a desire to actually _do _something about it as it was guilt that he didn't seem to care that he couldn't.

Part of him would have been okay if he never felt this way again. He could have dealt with that, he figured. He'd never had much besides his own hand anyway, so it wasn't as though it was some huge loss. He tried reminding himself it never meant much to him past being a little stress-relief, a messier alternative to a cigarette when he'd left the packet in his pants and was too lazy to get out of bed. It didn't mean anything. He'd have been fine without it.

Now…

"What the fuck are you doing…?" He growled, feeling as though he'd been gargling with gravel.

"Feeling good." Izaya watched him through heavy lidded eyes, knees spread a little for balance as he pushed his jeans to his thighs. "Because there's nothing wrong with someone for wanting that."

Nothing wrong? Shizuo stared down at his body as if it'd just started doing shit without his permission again. He might as well have been watching porn, as detached from himself as he felt in that moment. Whatever was going on looked as though it felt pretty good, but it was happening to someone else.

"Tell me to stop, Shizu-chan…" And he shouldn't have fucking _looked_ when Izaya sighed a ragged exhale, because he might not have done it for a while but hell if he didn't remember the way his own breathing changed when he touched himself. His hand disappearing under the waistband of his shorts, Izaya's eyes fluttered but never wavered from his. "If you're not feeling anything at all right now, then tell me to stop and I will."

To spite him, his cock gave a little jerk when Izaya freed himself, biting back a moan as he stroked his hardening erection.

"How can you…?" Clutching the sheets so hard his hands ached, he shook his head, wrenching his stare away. "How can you _do_ that?"

Izaya's laugh dissolved into a throaty groan. "Would it make you feel better if I said I'm pretending it's you?"

"Fuck…"

"Is that a no?"

Damn fucking straight it was a 'no'. What the hell was the goddamn louse _thinking_… Shit, no, he _knew _what Izaya was thinking. The knowledge just made it worse, just made it harder to keep his hips from shifting restlessly, seeking something he couldn't provide.

Couldn't. Wouldn't. Same fucking difference…

"Is that so…_ah_…" He darted a glance at Izaya's face, watching the flea bite his lip before releasing it slowly, teeth scoring flesh. "Is it so hard to imagine, Shizu-chan? That this—" Izaya did something with his hand that made him gasp quietly "—is what I want you to do to me?"

Shizuo swallowed hard, wishing Izaya'd shut the fuck up, because all those noises, all those helpless little sounds were just... for fuck's sake, Izaya wasn't even _touching _him. The damn flea's bed was big enough that all Shizuo felt when he closed his eyes was the slight rocking of the mattress beneath him, all he heard were the soft, uneven sounds of Izaya's breathing.

"Yeah."

Because it was impossible. It was crazy. It was exceptionally fucked up even in this _universe_ of fucked up they'd spun around each other for the past however many years. Too many. All of them filled with the natural order of things, Izaya hating him and Shizuo trying to chase him down, trying to catch him, trying to kill him without ever really knowing why.

And now Izaya was spreading his legs, stroking himself with that look of blissful concentration distorting the image Shizuo had of sly eyes and a smirking mouth, and he was supposed to believe it was all because of him?

No. Not fucking likely…

"Look at me, Shizu-chan."

He shook his head. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to see the way Izaya's brow furrowed a little with every stroke. He didn't want to see the way pale, slender denim-shackled thighs twitched. He didn't want to see the way the flushed head of Izaya's cock peeked out from the tight circle of his fingers. All those things he'd caught in reluctant, guilty glimpses, all those things that made his own body thrum with something unwilling and unfamiliar.

For the first time he could ever remember, it was _safer _to look at Izaya's eyes than anything else.

Or at least it was, until Izaya smiled and every thought in Shizuo's head melted away like sugar in a rainstorm.

Kicking off his pants, Izaya leaned back, legs spread wide. Shizuo felt his breathing grow harsher as he watched Izaya bring his free hand to his mouth, sucking on his fingers with a moan. Fuck, Shizuo knew how that felt. He knew how hot and wet Izaya's tongue was, licking fire across his skin. Releasing his fingers with a pop, Izaya drew one knee up tight against his chest, slick fingers reaching down to…

"Fuck…"

"Hmm…" Izaya smiled at him, parting his cheeks, fingertips teasing around his asshole. "Something like that. Hn…"

The memories clawing at the back of his mind tried making the connection between the things he remembered and the way Izaya looked, tried to find any trace of fear or pain on the other man's face. But there was nothing, just a frown of focused pleasure as Izaya pushed two wet fingers inside, thrusting slow and shallow.

Izaya's body just swallowed up the probing digits, narrow hips rising and falling to accommodate the careful intrusion, stroking himself harder. He didn't look scared, or hurt. He looked fucking ecstatic.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Shizu-chan…" Izaya said again, the words a vibrating purr Shizuo could almost _feel_ rubbing up against him. When the flea's back arched with one particularly rough stroke, toes curling, he was granted an even clearer view of those fingers shoving in and out, making hushed little wet sounds. "You're allowed to feel good."

Oh, god, he didn't want to. He didn't _want_ to. There was some huge fucking floodgate just waiting to open up and drown him if he did. All the shit he'd convinced himself he could deal with because it was kept at arms length, disassociated with anything but memory and fear, would eat him alive if he did. Panic clawed at his throat as he shook his head, fists pounding weakly into the mattress because it was better than the sudden urge to punch _himself_ until the terror and the heat dissipated and he didn't feel like he was spiralling out of control. "No…"

"But this is about us, ne?" Izaya breathed in a voice Shizuo barely recognized, low and raspy with pleasure. It nuzzled its way down his spine, warm and playful, at perfect odds with everything racing through his head. "It's not about anything else. You're allowed to feel good with _me_."

"You don't _want _me feeling good," he bit out, shivering hard. "You want me dead."

"Things change, Shizu-chan…" Izaya watched him with an enigmatic little half-smile. "You of all people should understand that, right? It's okay. You're— ah…!"

He waited for that sentence, interrupted by another sharp jerk of Izaya's hips, fingers sliding knuckle-deep, to finish off but it never did. Whatever Izaya meant to say was either forgotten or reconsidered, but a flare of hopeless, pathetic _need_ in the back of Shizuo's mind carried on anyway.

_You're safe._

He wasn't. Oh, shit, he wasn't. Not with this man. Even Shizuo wasn't that stupid, but…

_Maybe I can pretend, right…?_

Unbidden, the news report encroached on his thoughts again.

_Oh, fuck, Izaya… please don't tell me you did something like that for me. Please…_

No. He'd been fucking useless long enough. It was time to step up to the plate. Maybe that way he could mitigate the damage done to both of them.

He couldn't bring himself to slide a hand under the fabric. It was easier to pretend he wasn't shaking when he just touched himself through the material, hissing through his teeth as his hips bucked, electricity fizzing through his nerves.

"Shit…"

Izaya's breath hitched in a soft groan, the kind that made Shizuo wonder which one of them he'd actually touched, but otherwise he remained silent. It was still a mistake to meet Izaya's eyes, he decided, but more of one to let his gaze drop, an echoed sensation of something yearning shooting through his body as he watched Izaya's wrist move in lazy flicks.

With the second touch, he made himself stay still as he curled unresponsive fingers against the outline of his cock. A good decade of muscle memory made his hand tighten instinctively, thighs tensing in remembered anticipation, damp heat already making his clothes sticky.

A fucking _whimper_ caught in his throat at the rushing memory of cold, cloying material clinging to him. He tried to force it away. He wasn't cold. He was damn near burning up, Izaya's bed warm and luxurious beneath him.

_You're okay._

The alternative was to push his pants down, expose himself to the air and Izaya's gaze. His jaw tensed when that thought made him pulse harder, but he was moving anyway, hips lifting to slide the uncomfortable, confining material down.

The laser-bright fire that crested through him at the first touch on skin on skin made him gasp, teeth bared in a silent snarl. He could barely remember his own name, let alone whatever thought it incinerated. Something dumb about trying to remember the last time, trying to remember what he'd been thinking about, what usually got him off…

Didn't fucking matter. The only thing searing hot as a brand was the way Izaya moaned his name in time with that first, hesitant stroke.

"Does it feel good, Shizu-chan?" Izaya murmured, fingers thrusting faster, twisting like they were reaching for something. "This feels so good… but it'll be better when it's really you, ne…? Or when that's really me."

"Fuck, flea…"

And he was helpless to do anything except pretend it _was_. Izaya's hands were smaller than his, less beat-up. His nails weren't as rough, and the cold metal of his rings always made Shizuo start if he wasn't expecting it. Just when Shizuo thought he apply more pressure, Izaya would relent, grazing fingertips across his skin instead in indecipherable patterns. Izaya's touch was _nothing _like his, but as familiar as Shizuo was with it, it was frighteningly easy to create a patchwork overlay of sensation as his hand moved over his shaft like somehow his imaginary Izaya already knew exactly how he wanted to be touched. Imaginary Izaya knew to speed it up a little when his hand grew slicker, knew to flick his thumb across the tip on every upstroke just to drag more precome over his skin. Imaginary Izaya already knew Shizuo liked more pressure on the underside of his cock, liked more friction at the base, liked to twist his fingers just beneath the crown, and squeeze.

It made his head spin when Real Izaya cried out his name again, a reverent chant that grew more broken the closer he got, cutting off entirely when he came. All Shizuo's mouth could manage were broken, panted "Fuck…"'s in between erratic, desperate strokes, but his head was a dizzying stream of 'Izaya… oh, shit, flea…'.

He couldn't tell whether he was relieved or embarrassed to be coming so damn fast. Neglected for so long, his body was merrily speeding along ahead of him, and nothing he threw at the tyres – not shame, not guilt, not fear – did much to slow it down, molten electricity seeping into the base of his spine. There was nothing but white noise in his head, and hot white ribbons spattering over his stomach, trickling through his fingers.

Izaya watched him through it all, dark eyes glazed and sated. Knowing. Finding it hard to keep his eyes open, Shizuo still searched that expression for the smug amusement he knew had to be lurking somewhere just beyond the façade. Had to be, 'cause this was Izaya and he'd just…

_Oh, shit…_

He needed to move. He needed to clean up the mess, erase the evidence of his latest mistake. Izaya on the other hand seemed wholly nonplussed by the mess they'd made of themselves, stretching like a satisfied cat before leaning closer.

"This is mine, Shizu-chan." Izaya's voice cut blade-sharp through the haze, and Shizuo didn't even have the strength or desire to flinch when Izaya reached for his hand, drawing it to his lips, warm wet tongue cleaning him as carefully as he'd licked away that spilt milkshake once upon a time. "Understood? I'm the only one you have to think about."

_You _were.

He couldn't articulate that, the words sticking in a throat that grew tighter the harder he tried. Izaya seemed content to accept the short nod he could dredge up, still holding his hand as he curled on the empty side of the bed.

"But you see…" Izaya murmured, lips moving against his fingers in a way that kept his body humming as it came down from its high. "It's okay."

But he had no right to feel okay. It shouldn't have been Izaya on his mind when he came, it should've been the fear, the guilt, the disgust. The scent of sex hovering in the room should've made him tense, and the trace of something bittersweet on Izaya's lips as they brushed against Shizuo's in a gentle, chaste kiss should've made him feel sick, not…

_Tch, haven't you learned anything?_

He didn't deserve gentleness. He didn't deserve to forget.

And fuck if he wasn't tired of that. Fuck if he didn't want to pretend, just for a little while, that he didn't have to feel that way. Selfish, yeah, but that was okay. This wouldn't last, anyway. For now, he had Izaya's hand entwined with his like the flea really did give a shit about him, his cheek pressed undemandingly against Shizuo's shoulder as he closed his eyes.

For now, he could pretend he was safe.

* * *

><p>"I didn't know what the fuck to think, y'know? Cause one minute he's living it up and the next, bam! Reckon it might've been those 'Bukuro bastards…"<p>

Izaya yawned, checking his watch. The lunchtime crowd had begun streaming into the fast food restaurant, but for the past twenty minutes all Satou wanted to talk about was Hayashi. It had been a boring topic when Hayashi was still among the living, but as far as Izaya was concerned he was now a non-entity, something disposable that had long since served his purpose.

Satou was heading the same way fast. He still hadn't decided what to do with this one, except that it would be rather gratifying to see Satou blubbering and grovelling first.

The number Shiki gave him still burned a hole in his pocket. Ideally, he wanted more on Takahashi before wandering into that particular minefield, but Satou was annoyingly uncooperative.

Che, that or missing his boyfriend terribly. Honestly, any man who was _that_ fixated on some other guy to the point of organizing his entire world around his opinion of him was definitely suspicious…

He leaned back in his uncomfortable vinyl seat, abandoning the attempt he'd been making of constructing a DNA helix out of bendy straws, and scrutinized Satou contemplatively. Jumpy as…well, a _flea_, though he bristled at the idea of bestowing anyone this pathetic with that moniker, Satou fidgeted in his seat, clearly perturbed because he was actually eating slowly enough to display some decorum. The spikes of his hair looked a little limper than usual, and he hadn't bothered with half his piercings. The very picture of a man with things on his mind.

"D'you think it could've been?"

Could have been what? Somewhere along the line the topic must have shifted from the reasons for Hayashi's demise to the method. Personally, Izaya thought bullet to the brain was pretty self explanatory but Satou seemed to enjoy hashing it out repeatedly. Two days later and it didn't look as though the police were taking the investigation especially seriously.

Ah, so boring. It was hard to concentrate on Satou's whining when the only thing on replay in Izaya's mind was watching Shizuo come.

"Well…" he shrugged vaguely. Satou probably didn't truly want his opinion; all the kid wanted was someone to agree with him. Apparently it was enough for Satou, because he paled, swallowing hard.

"Shit… yeah that's what I thought too. I mean, yeah Hayashi's pissed off a whole fucking bunch of people but…" Satou folded in on himself as though the vinyl chair could swallow him up in its tacky plastic camouflage. "I know he must've had something to do with it."

Oh. Interesting…

"It's possible, ne?" He leaned forward, hands tucked under his chin. "Maybe he disappeared to plot his vengeance."

"Fuck, y'think?" Satou gawped at him. A soggy piece of salad fell from his burger to emphasize the panic with a mushy splat. "Oh, fuck… what do I do? C'mon man, you gotta know someplace they can hide me, right?"

The plan – if it even qualified as such; experiment, maybe – started in low gear. Hayashi obviously left a nice gap in the market for someone Satou could crawl to when things got tough.

_Ah, Satou-kun… you make it too easy for me._

Izaya laughed. "Ah, relax. I very much doubt anyone's after you. Hayashi _did_ piss off the wrong people, that's all. He knew the Awakusu wouldn't tolerate his dealings for long. If he was stupid enough to let them catch up with him, then…." He waved a dismissive hand, watching Satou scowl petulantly like he'd just insulted a schoolgirl's favourite idol. "You're better off without that sort of friend, ne?"

"…Maybe."

"Besides, he never _was_ all that nice to you, was he?" He canted his head, dragging out the voice he thought would've been perfect for some tempting alternate career path as a shrink. "You should be grateful he didn't drag you down with him. I mean… let's pretend for a moment it _was_ Heiwajima. Did anyone warn you to lay low?"

Satou looked away, crestfallen. "No."

"Well then. I have no problem helping you do that, if you still feel it's necessary. Actually…" He drew out his phone. "Let me get the ball rolling with that right now, ne? No time to waste."

"Yeah? You can do that?"

"Of course I can." Izaya flipped open his phone and tapped out a quick text message, while Satou excused himself with a loud burp and announced his need for the bathroom to anyone within earshot. Grimacing, Izaya read over the message once more before hitting send.

_Meet me at the restaurant. Now. It's important. Please._

When Satou returned a few minutes later, he'd set his phone on the table. "Done," he gestured towards it with a tilt of the head. "But if I'm going to protect you effectively, I'm going to need information. If something else happens to one of your… friends, I need to know whether it's just coincidental, whether they've just found themselves on the wrong side of something unrelated. Understand?"

Satou stuffed his face more enthusiastically. "You wanna know who else'd be after them?"

"It would help, ne?"

Staring at his decimated burger for a moment, Satou shrugged before taking another big bite. "Dunno. I mean, they never told me much. Hayashi always said," and this time Satou's eyes narrowed when he said Hayashi's name, fickle friendship already turning bitter, "I wasn't reliable enough. I mean, what the fuck's with that? I'm reliable enough for the fucking grunt work but not for the big shit?"

"You seem very reliable to me. Maybe they just didn't want you shining too brightly."

"Yeah!" Satou agreed with a vehement nod. "They were always tryin' to kick me down, fucking bastards. But I still dunno what they were doing. They were on Nishimura's case about the money his business was losing, like… _all_ the time, but they ain't gonna get rid of him cause no one else knows how to handle it like he does. And no one gets to know what Takahashi's doing, like… no one. Heh, I can't see his favourite toys gangin' up on him or something, even if it'd be too fucking funny." It must have been, as loudly as Satou snorted. "But they're like… fourteen or something, what the hell're they gonna do? And he's been _really_ careful after that one time. If he can be taken out then I'm fucking screwed, man. Screwed."

"Hmm? Didn't I tell you I could help you?" Izaya feigned offence, even as he replayed the conversation with Shiki in his head. Something about playmates… "You have nothing to worry about."

"Thanks, man…" Satou took a vicious slurp of his drink. "Sorry I don't know more. But if someone does hit 'em, you can be pretty fucking sure it'll be that scary cocksucking bastard. Don't reckon anyone else can get at them, y'know?"

Izaya smiled. "Ah, no defence is entirely foolproof when you underestimate your enemy. Fortunately for you, I don't make mistakes like that."

"Yeah." Satou nodded, braying a laugh. "Ah, it's fucking funny don'cha think? Hayashi palms me off on you when all along he shoulda been on his fucking knees asking you to help him. Ah, his loss, stupid asshole…"

"Hayashi… never saw the bigger picture, ne? I can see you're not like that, Satou-kun. You're much smarter."

"You got that right." Satou raised his head from another suck on his wilting straw. "I'm… Oh _fuck_…"

He didn't need to look through the glass behind him to know his message had been received. Received and answered. No, watching Satou's face told him everything he needed to know. Eyes impossibly large and owlish, a bead of sweat broke out on Satou's forehead as he swallowed convulsively, a forgotten piece of half-chewed French fry falling out of his open mouth.

It was the 'please' that did it, he suspected. Shizu-chan was always a pushover for things like that…

Even on crowded Shinjuku streets people stepped out of the way for Shizuo, unconsciously aware that he wasn't like them and was best avoided. The blond was puffing agitatedly on a cigarette, scowling gaze darting behind his sunglasses, discomfort manifesting in a more threatening aura than usual as he stalked purposefully towards the restaurant.

He hadn't planned for that, but it was nice of Shizuo to make the effort. Made things look much more authentic.

"Is there a problem, Satou-kun?" He smiled innocently, propping his chin on his hand. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No…it's…" Satou shook his head, eyes wild. "I… I have to go…!"

His tray fell to the floor with a clatter as he stumbled to his feet, bumping into chairs and customers alike in an effort to flee. Izaya sat back to observe casually, smiling at the shrieks and insults as Satou elbowed his way through the lunch crowd to the door.

So smart, he was running _towards_ his enemy. Izaya shook his head; Einstein had the right idea about human stupidity, he really did, and Satou-kun was a prime example. Still, he was a slimy, greasy creature and Izaya had been confident he'd turn tail and run away before Shizuo even became aware of what happened.

Really, he'd just meant to scare Satou this time. It wasn't his fault that terror made Satou even more stupid than before.

He wasn't sure when he felt his iron grip control over the proceedings begin to slip. While Satou was out of view briefly in the throngs loitering outside the door, obscured by an oversized plant and the door pillars, there was a commotion, a scuffle, a scream. Izaya stood in time to see Satou shove a hapless office lady to the ground in his frenzy to escape, the girl's companions alternating between fussing over her and yelling for someone to apprehend the culprit.

_Idiots…_ he grit his teeth, _don't do that…!_

Satou dashed off right past Shizuo, and the indignant frown on the blond's face turned to stunned comprehension in achingly slow increments. His hand dropped limply to his side, the cigarette falling from slack fingers to roll off along the sidewalk.

And as unpredictable as ever, Shizuo turned to give chase.

What he'd do if he caught Satou, Izaya couldn't imagine, but now that the monster reacted in such a way, morbid curiosity demanded to know what would come of it.

By the time he got to the door – by hopping over the ornamental flower display and the trash can, instead of fighting his way through like Satou – Shizuo was already disappearing around the corner in a blur of black, white and gold. Ducking through the narrow, trash-strewn alley next to the restaurant he caught up with them one street over, though still trailing in Shizuo's wake.

He should have called out to Shizuo, whether the beast was in any mood to listen. He should have made Shizuo stop. But if he did, Satou would realize he'd been set up and it'd all be for nothing.

_You'll realize it too, ne?_

But the monster was hunting down his prey, wasn't he? In that moment, Shizuo couldn't possibly have known Izaya had a hand in their coincidental meeting. He was just reacting on instinct, on bloodlust, at the command of that glorious fury. Faced with the presence of one of the men who'd brought him to his knees, Shizuo hadn't cowered, hadn't fled.

_You're such a liar, Shizu-chan. I thought you didn't want this?_

He was only disappointed he couldn't see Shizuo's face from his position. In his head it bore that same wild, breathtaking expression Izaya could see every time he closed his eyes. The same one he'd seen aimed his way so many times he'd lost count.

Was this enough to snap Shizu-chan out of his apathy? Would this be enough to get his real Shizuo back?

_But what if…_

Satou was faster than he'd have guessed. He lost ground every time he stopped to toss an obstacle into Shizuo's path, but since Shizu-chan still wasn't operating at full capacity, he gained it back every time the blond had to kick a trashcan, or a storefront sign, or delivery crates out of the way.

"Don't fucking run away from me…!"

It wasn't directed his way this time, but the snarl still made Izaya shiver. So did the sound of pure animalistic frustration Shizuo made when Satou ducked down a narrow side street, dodging trashed cardboard boxes and ankle-deep puddles. Shizuo just crashed through them all, set on his target and impossible to veer off course.

Satou fumbled in the pocket of baggy jeans for his cell phone as he ran, pressing buttons frantically before lifting it to his ear.

All the while paying no attention to where he was going.

Izaya didn't know whether it was déjà vu or just common sense hammering through the blind rage, but something still flipped and fluttered in his chest when Shizuo skidded to a halt at the end of the alley, knees scraping hard on rough concrete.

Satou just kept going.

The truck's horn blared, but it was an eerily discordant sound as it echoed off the alley walls. Brakes squealed, and then the muffled, flat _final_ sound of something soft and fragile hitting tarmac.

Izaya reached the end of the alley just in time to see the last ungainly flop of Satou's arm, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. A jagged streak of blood stained a good fifteen yards of the street, broken only in places by black tyre marks.

And for just a second everything was still, silent. Horrified bystanders could only stare, some with their hands clamped over their mouths. Then the pause button came unstuck again, and the street exploded with activity and noise. People were yelling for someone to call for an ambulance, for the police, for _someone_. The distraught truck driver staggered out of his cab, panicstricken as he tried to explain to whoever might listen that he just hadn't seen the guy, he'd just run out into the road from nowhere.

Next to him, still kneeling where he'd stopped, Shizuo's eyes remained transfixed on the point where the streak of blood started. The now empty point of impact.

"Shizu-chan…"

He halted his approach when he realized the blond wasn't shaking because of the exertion. The tremors trembling down Shizuo's spine weren't rhythmic enough for that. Lifting an unsteady hand to his face, Shizuo stared at it as if it had given Satou that final punt in the back to shove him under the truck.

_But what if he_ wasn't _lying about this?_

No. It was just shock. Shizuo might know how it felt to be the one hit by a truck, but he'd never seen it happen. It was fine. This was what they wanted, after all. It was all working out.

"We need to get out of here…" He reached for Shizuo's shoulder. "Eventually someone's going to remember where he ran out from and—"

"Don't fucking touch me," Shizuo snarled, shoving his hand away roughly. "Don't fucking come near me!"

Whatever he'd expected to see in Shizuo's eyes, it wasn't the devastation he saw there now. It wasn't that sickening look of self-loathing. It wasn't the sheen of tears, garishly bright behind the lenses of his glasses.

"Shizu-chan, I—"

"No…" Breathing hard, Shizuo stumbled to his feet, pushing away Izaya's every attempt to reach him. "No… just…"

"It's okay." He tried to keep his voice even. "Everything's fine, but we need to get out of here and—"

"I said leave me the fuck alone!"

By the time he felt the punch, he was already sprawled over a pile of garbage bags, dazzling lights in his head as the alley swayed and dipped around him. The pain came sluggishly when he tried to stand, the throbbing ache in his head and jaw taking a while to fumble its way past the dazed surprise.

The street spun and tilted in his vision as he scanned it for any sign of Shizuo, not really expecting to find him. A crowd had formed around the scene of the accident now, and an ambulance's redundantly optimistic siren neared somewhere on adjacent streets. He had to leave.

He didn't even know which way Shizu-chan went, and since he doubted he could break into a run without throwing up, giving futile chase seemed stupid, and besides...

Squeezing his eyes shut at a sudden pang of nausea, he forced a careless smile as he pictured the broken way Shizuo looked at him, like nothing would ever be okay again.

_So you wouldn't run from Satou, but you run from me, ne…?_

When he opened his eyes again, relieved the world seemed a little more steady, something blinking by the edge of the sidewalk caught his eye. The impact must have sent Satou's phone skidding towards the curb. No one was paying it – or him – any attention, so no one saw him pick it up, sliding it discreetly into his coat pocket.

He couldn't worry about Shizuo. There was still so much he had to do. And anyway, hadn't he promised himself that next time Shizu-chan ran, Izaya wouldn't stand in his way?

No… as shaking fingers curled around the phone in his pocket as though that tiny treasure was worth all the sacrifices he'd made to obtain it, he decided he didn't have to worry about Shizu-chan. Whatever happened, Shizuo couldn't leave him alone any more than he could do the same.

He'd be back.

Without looking back at Satou, Izaya turned and headed back the way he'd come, pretending the cold, hollow feeling enveloping him was merely a result of being hit that hard.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N : I hope you all had a happy and peaceful weekend, whatever you might've been celebrating *hearts* Thank you all for continuing to read and comment!  
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_I think the general consensus was not to break up these longer chapters and to keep them matching the ones on LJ, so that works for me (for I am easily confused...)!  
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_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 120 - 133)  
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_**Warnings: More earning-the-rating content ;) and it's**_** _less_**_** non-contact than last time, so if that's not your thing you might want to skip the last third of the chapter. Also some implied, non-graphic references to rape, which may be triggery for some.  
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><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Eighteen

_Shit._

If there was anyone in his way as he fled down busy Shinjuku streets, Shizuo couldn't tell. When he could focus on it, the world took on an ephemeral, nightmarish quality but he couldn't look away, couldn't close his eyes. Every time he blinked, he saw that guy running in front of him, running _from _him, and—

_Shit. _

–and he heard protesting brakes and tyres scraping asphalt and that nauseating _thud_ that made him stop, veering off into a dark, narrow alley between looming buildings, one arm braced against a wall that felt distorted and unreal as he retched up the nothing much he'd eaten.

_Shit, shit, shit…_

Pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes, he tried to catch his breath. He stared, detached and disgusted when his hands came away wet. What fucking right did he have to be feeling this way when he'd just—

_I did that. Not Izaya, not anyone else. Me._

He slunk down against the wall, head falling back with a thump that made his teeth snap. His fucking skin crawled with a million invisible bugs, but rubbing his hands over his arms did nothing to alleviate it. It didn't help that he could barely feel his hands. Everything felt like it was floating, like he was being held together by the thinnest of threads.

He should go and turn himself in, right? That's what people had to do when they'd hurt someone else. He needed to confess that he'd—

_Oh, fuck…._

Another wave of nausea sent him to his hands and knees, vision hot and blurred, the sound of the street too loud and dissonant to bear. How the hell could the world just go on out there? People still bustled from one store to the next; a harried salaryman caught a cab, barking out some address to the driver; a bunch of giggling school kids cutting class debated which arcade to go to next. Didn't any of them realize everything had just fallen apart?

A siren blared somewhere deeper in the city, and he waited. It didn't come any closer, didn't turn down _this_ street, and he despised himself for having the nerve to be relieved.

He wouldn't last ten fucking minutes in prison. Shit, they probably wouldn't even be able to keep him locked up like regular prisoners. He'd start a fight, people would get hurt, and then it'd be drugs and padded cells until he didn't even remember his own name anymore.

_And that's a bad thing? You'd be out of everyone's way. They could all go on with their lives and forget you ever existed._

He drew his knees to his chest, just trying to keep himself together. If that was the best thing for everyone, then why the hell did it make him feel so sick he hurt? Why did imagining Kasuka's face make him want to clamp his hands over his ears like a kid having a tantrum and just _scream_?

Hell, he didn't even know where he was. Another nondescript city alleyway, on another crowded city street, trying to disappear into the garbage, the forgotten, the discarded. If he wasn't going to the cops then he should probably go home and wait there till someone found him. Maybe he should call Kasuka or Tom first so they wouldn't worry. Maybe he should…

In his pocket, his fingers gripped the jagged teeth of Izaya's spare key until the metal bit into his skin.

He couldn't go back there. He couldn't listen to Izaya lie to him anymore, telling him it was all okay when it wasn't. He couldn't bear the thought of Izaya telling him everything was fine because of some bullshit like karma, or because it was Shizuo's damn place to make the fuckers pay in the first place.

It _was_. Fuck it, he probably should have done it sooner. Who the hell knew how many other people these men had hurt while he'd been hiding like a goddamn coward? How many of those could he have stopped if he acted sooner, if he acted at all?

He knew all that. He fucking _knew _it, but…

_I never wanted anyone to get hurt._

Stupid. He smacked his head back into the wall with every thought. Stupid, stupid, fucking _stupid_ when he knew all along he'd been born to hurt. To destroy and ruin everything he ever touched. Izaya was right, he was an idiot for pretending to be anything close to human.

He wasn't. He never would be. But it turned out that knowledge couldn't even be fucked through his dumb skull, so he didn't know what else it would take for him to realize it.

Was it payback for that moment of selfishness? He curled in on himself as he remembered the comfort he'd taken from Izaya's touch, from those stolen few minutes when he'd had the nerve to lie to himself that it was okay to enjoy the warmth, the safety. When he'd deluded himself that he was normal again. He hadn't deserved it, he'd known that, but…

Fuck it, other people pretended and they were fine. Look at the fricking flea, the only person Shizuo knew who lied to himself more than he did, skipping like a deliriously smug idiot through all the mess he left behind. But that was the gut-level difference between them, something no amount of warmth or touch or clever fucking words would ever change. Izaya loved creating that mess, went so far as to seek it out and mould it to his whim when it wasn't happening often enough. Shizuo hated it, but wound up doing it anyway despite – or maybe because of – his best intentions.

Why the fuck had he gone after the guy in the first place? He wound his hands into his hair, squeezing tight like that'd help him think, help him remember.

Help him _admit_ that the only thing on his mind when he came face to face with one of the men who'd… godsfuckingdamn it, one of the men who'd _raped _him, had been "Why? Why the fuck did you have to mess up my life? Why the hell couldn't you have just left me alone?"

Tch, no, if he wasn't being punished for being selfish enough to cling to the lies Izaya offered, it was because of that self-centred thought alone. A thought that just went to prove he'd never even come close to accepting what he was, because if he _truly _understood he was a monster and accepted that monsters invariably ended up getting theirs one way or another, then he'd have been able to let that question go a long time ago.

That he still sought some kind of reason, like a normal _human_ would…

_But you're not. And it's about fricking time you see that._

Wiping a hand over his face again, he tilted his head back and stared up at the overcast sky in the gap between the buildings and tried to think.

Okay, so he couldn't go back to Izaya, and he didn't want to deal with anyone he knew. Didn't leave many options. He'd gotten so fucking used to being Izaya's kept woman, Izaya's pet, that he hadn't even picked up his wallet on the way out of the door. No money, no ID… even if he _wanted_ to go home, he didn't have his keys.

Shit.

He could walk. It was better than sitting here doing nothing. Maybe he could find a vending machine to trash; sometimes a well placed punch made the cash inside cascade out like a jackpot on a pachinko game. It might be enough for the train.

He kept his head down as he shuffled back to the street. Someone would've called the cops by now, right? Fuck, for all he knew, Izaya had – the mockery of it smacked of something the goddamn flea would _love_. It'd be the perfect way to punish him for running away.

How many times had he chewed out the damn louse for being good for nothing but running away? How many times had he told himself it was only a matter of time before he hurt someone? In his head, he'd always thought that when it happened he'd be prepared, that he'd man up and accept responsibility.

And instead he ran the fuck away.

A murmur of panic spread out around him when his fist connected with the nearest wall, gouging out an ugly hacked hole in the brickwork.

_I ran away. I hurt someone, and I ran away._

Everything Izaya said came into painfully sharp focus. All those little jibes about how his attackers were probably hurting other people, that he was being horribly selfish by doing nothing about it. And he thought he understood, but he hadn't. All he'd seen was the shame and the fear he didn't want to deal with.

All he'd seen was himself. All he'd _ever _seen was himself. If he really gave a shit about anyone else, then he'd have found a way to be somebody else. Somebody better.

_Selfish. Coward. Monster._

But it wasn't too late to do something about it. It wasn't too late to make sure he could never hurt anyone again.

* * *

><p>For some silly reason, after taking the long way home and wasting time chasing up a few clients he'd been neglecting lately, Izaya still half expected Shizuo to be waiting for him when he got back to the apartment. There was no sign Shizuo had been back there at all; there was a cold, half-drunk cup of sweet coffee on the kitchen counter, and a barely touched cigarette stubbed out on the plate Shizuo kept using as an ashtray.<p>

He pictured Shizuo standing there when he got that message, irately stubbing out the cigarette before doing exactly what Izaya wanted him to.

_Except I never wanted_ that.

Che… there was nothing he could do about that now. Rinsing off the cup and the plate, he ditched the cigarette in the trash before he gave in to the desire to perch it between his lips just to see if he could still taste the man who'd lit it, only a few hours ago.

Tossing his coat onto the couch, he followed with a sigh, slumping into the plush cushions as he turned on Satou's phone. He had to tilt it almost vertical for the screen to work; maybe it sustained more damage than he first thought.

Time to see if the prize had been worth the cost.

"Who were you calling, hmm?" He smiled up at the scratched casing, scrolling through Satou's recently dialed numbers. "Who did you think was going to come and save you?"

_Who did_ you _think would come to save you, Shizu-chan? No one, huh. It was just your divine punishment or something equally stupid…_

/Last dialed call: Takahashi/

_Damn it…_

He couldn't tell whether the call ever connected or not. Satou's phone only held the details of the length of accumulated calls, not individual ones, or if it did that function wasn't working anymore. Ah, but it didn't matter. Call or no call, the deaths of two of their accomplices in less than a week surely set alarm bells ringing for Nishimura and Takahashi. Even if they put it down to coincidence – Nishimura might, he suspected, but Takahashi less so – there'd still be a niggling doubt. He supposed he could try again to access Takahashi's cell phone bill to see whether he'd made an attempt to return the call, but if this was a number he gave out freely to idiots like Satou, then he doubted it'd turn up anything else.

There was nothing else particularly interesting in the phone, no numbers or contacts he didn't already have. Blowing out an irate sigh, he tossed it onto the coffee table, watching it spin. No, his only snag now was whether Satou managed to tell Takahashi _why_ he was running in fear of his life. If the remaining two thought Shizuo really _was_ after them, then…

_And you've left him wandering out there on his own like a walking target._

Oh, please. Shizu-chan was still Shizu-chan; he could deal with a few hours in Shinjuku without a babysitter.

He turned on the TV for some distraction, only to turn it off when he realized he'd surfed through forty two channels and couldn't remember a single thing from any of them. Flinging the remote control onto the second couch in disgust, he turned his ire to the couch itself. It was about time he changed it for something new; why Shizu-chan thought it was so comfortable was beyond him.

But he _had_ seemed comfortable here for a while, hadn't he? Like something he'd adopted from a shelter, wary at first until his surroundings had his scent stamped all over it, and only then staking his claim on his favourite spot.

Picking up a pillow, he pressed it to his face and inhaled. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought it might smell a little bit like sweet smoke and cologne that wasn't his.

Tch… the whole damn place smelled like that now…

The key scraping in the lock might as well have been digging into his chest and scraping around in there, too. He stumbled from the couch, thoughts moving too fast for his body to catch up.

Shizuo stood in the doorway, head bowed, water dripping from the ends of his hair. Izaya had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even noticed when it started raining. In the same way paper-cuts only hurt when you saw them, he only heard the rattle of the rain against the windows when he took in the bedraggled blonde, shirt soaked, hair plastered to his head. How long had he been stumbling around in the downpour, ignorant of the state he was in?

He stopped when Shizuo looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed but startlingly clear.

"Shizu-chan…"

"I get it now." Shizuo nodded, voice hoarse. "I get what you've always been trying to tell me."

Izaya frowned. He'd said a lot of things; that really didn't help narrow it down. "I don't—"

"That I'm not human. That I don't deserve to act like I am."

"What?"

"And you're right, but I guess you've always know that. But I didn't, not till today. Not till…" Shizuo's hands clenched into fists at his side, jaw tense. "Not till I _killed_ someone, and—"

"Killed someone? I was _there_ remember? It was an accident, Shizu-chan."

"Yeah? So that guy'd have just run out into traffic if I wasn't there, huh?"

Izaya couldn't answer, even though he knew it played right into Shizuo's hands. Right into this… utterly warped version of events he'd convinced himself _must _have happened.

_Of course he'd see it that way. He's been waiting for an excuse to see things that way for a very long time. _

Tracking rainwater across the apartment, Shizuo picked up his abandoned cigarettes from the kitchen counter where they rested on top of a battered leather wallet, and Izaya realized with a jolt that he really _had_ dropped everything for that message.

"I think… maybe that's why I hated you. Because I knew you were right, I just didn't want to believe it. Everyone else kept lying, 'cause I guess no one wants to be the one telling someone they're a freak, but you…" Shizuo frowned at his cigarettes. "You saw through me from the start, knew exactly what I was, and that… I fucking hated you so much for that."

…wait. _what_?

"Shizu-chan—"

"Don't. You never have, so don't start giving me that crap now. Don't start fucking feeling sorry for me, cause I don't need it. I brought all this shit on myself, I deserve to-"

"You didn't do anything! Why can't you get that through your protozoan brain?" He almost regretted letting his temper get the better of him when Shizuo flinched as though they yell bore a physical impact. Head lowered, his fingers tightened on the cigarettes the way a lone soldier would cling to his fragile armour in the face of a battalion. "None of this is your fault. None of it. You get it, don't you, that the only reason he was running was because of his own guilt?"

Shizuo shook his head, stubborn. "He was scared. He was scared of _me_, and—"

"He was scared of what he'd _done_ to you. Scared it was finally catching up with him. Damn it, a man who wasn't guilty would have no reason to run, would he?"

"It doesn't make it right."

"What he did to _you_ wasn't right! If you're asking me to place a value on him in comparison to you, then…" He dragged a hand through his hair, wheeling away for some breathing room. "You won't like my answer, Shizu-chan."

When had he miscalculated so badly? When, in all the years of knowing Shizuo hated himself had he missed quite how worthless the other man thought he was? Because there _was_ a difference; in the privacy of his own thoughts, there were times – particularly lately – when Izaya supposed there might be a few things he didn't exactly _like_ about himself. Being so sickeningly desperate to make a distinctly _un_happy man happy was one of them, especially when he was starting to think nothing ever could. But it did nothing to dent his assessment of his own worth. He was Izaya Orihara. The rest of the world, even his precious humans, could just go hang.

Shizuo Heiwajima, however… well, he was a different beast altogether. Izaya might've always pictured himself on top of the heap; Shizuo probably pictured himself crushed at the very bottom, because he deserved no better.

And he'd encouraged that, fed it and stoked it until Shizuo thought that lifting his gaze a little too high was some kind of mortal sin. Oh, he never could have done it if there wasn't something intrinsic about Shizuo that _let_ him, but…

It had been fun at the time. It wasn't fun anymore.

"Did you do it on purpose?"

Leaning against the edge of his desk, Izaya folded his arms across his chest. Classic defensive body language. He shook his head.

"No." He scowled at the way Shizuo scoffed, as though he'd expected that answer and intended all along to doubt it. "I _didn't_. Not the way you're thinking."

"What fucking difference _is _there?"

"I just…" He clasped his hands at the back of his neck, suddenly feeling as out of control as he'd been when Satou fled, when Shizuo gave chase. Why the hell had he taken his eye off the ball when he _knew_ Shizuo was so unpredictable? When the only predictable thing about him was that he'd do the _last_ thing Izaya expected, why hadn't he thought it through…?

_Because you wanted him to see what you're doing for him. Because you wanted him to say you were doing the right thing._

Because you wanted him back.

How had this happened? How had his attempt to salvage what was left of Shizu-chan led to even more damage?

_Because you're you, and he's him, and you've never known how to handle him. _

Funny how all the explanations in the world didn't change things. Didn't magically fix things. Didn't somehow erase the past twenty-four hours, handing him a clean slate without any terrific errors of judgement.

"I wanted to see what you'd do."

Shizuo stared at him. "I'm not your fucking lab experiment."

"No, you're not." Izaya tried gamely for a smile. "Isn't the point of a lab experiment to prove some hypothesis you can predict? In theory, anyway…"

"So what did you expect me to do, huh? Shake the bastard's hand and go 'no hard feelings'?"

Izaya shook his head. "No. After everything you've said, everything you said you _wanted_, I didn't think you'd go after him. I thought you'd want to be as far away from him as possible."

"But you know who he was." At Izaya's nod, Shizuo looked away. "And the other guy, the yakuza hit…?"

"I had some information," Izaya shrugged. "What they did with it wasn't up to me."

"Why do you do that?" Shizuo shoved an agitated hand through wet hair, pushing it out of his face. Izaya wished he hadn't; it would be an easier conversation to conduct if he didn't have to see those wounded, shadowed eyes. "What are you getting out of it?"

"I'm getting you back."

"What?" Shizuo's gaze snapped up. "Is that…" He dragged the back of his hand over his lips, as though whatever he'd been about to say was too sour, too bitter to voice. "Is that what you think you're doing?"

"Are you telling me it's not?" Izaya countered, eyes narrowed. "Didn't you hear me before? I didn't think you'd go after him, but you _did_. You did what you'd always have done, what you'd have done before—"

"Enough," Shizuo said, voice soft. "I said I get it, remember? I know what I am. I know what I did. And I know what I'm gonna do about it, I just… came to give this back first." Shizuo withdrew Izaya's key from his pocket, tossing it at him. Izaya made no move to catch it, letting it bounce off to skitter off across the floor. Shizuo shrugged, turning for the door. "Suit yourself…"

"Don't go."

"Why?"

"Because I…"

_Because I don't want you to. Because it's my fault, not yours. Because I love you, you fool, why can't you just_ see _that and spare me the trouble of telling you? Protozoan idiot…_

Shizuo laughed, a short bleak sound at his silence. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Please…" And damned if that one word wasn't just as hard as all the others. "You can't just leave now, not after…"

"After what?" Shizuo halted at the door, his back still turned. The tremor that shivered down his spine was even more visible through the damp contours of his shirt, and it was all Izaya could do not to chase it down the blond's back with his hands, his lips. Che, if Shizuo was done with this anyway, it might be worth the black eye he'd get for his effort… "You said it yourself, right? That was just about feeling good. It didn't mean anything."

"Shizu-chan…"

"Should never've fucking done it, anyway…" Shizuo mumbled, one hand braced against the door. "Should never've fucking listened to you."

"So why did you? Why are you here at all, if you don't want the same thing I do."

He hadn't really expected an answer; even if Shizu-chan had proven to be far more perceptive than Izaya might've given him credit, it only applied to other people. When it came to himself, Shizuo was as instinctive and impulsive as ever…

"'Cause I used to think you were the only person I could never let down." The hand resting on the door turned into a white-knuckled fist. "'Cause you know what I am. You know I've only been fooling myself. Musta been fun, right? Seeing that you had me pegged all along."

It should have been. It was still a little difficult to accept why it wasn't.

"Yes," he said, taking measured steps closer. "I know what you are. I know, and I've never been afraid of you. I know, and despite _both_ our best efforts, you've never hurt me."

"Right. So that's why you always run the fuck away."

"Ah, Shizu-chan…" Izaya laughed softly, insinuating himself between Shizuo and the door, one shoulder tucked under that trembling fist. "You never stopped to think I might not be running away, I might just be making you chase me?"

Shizuo didn't look at him, but he didn't pull away either.

"And for the record, you never have let me down. Shizu-chan always exceeds my expectations, ne…?"

Even before Shizuo lifted his head, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Again. A shudder ran up the blond's arm, across his shoulders, shaking him hard enough that a few stray droplets of rainwater splashed onto Izaya's shirt.

It took a few seconds of staring into desolate, glassy brown eyes to realize it wasn't rainwater at all.

_Shizu-chan…_

"I never wanted…" Shizuo's breath hitched as he shook his head, gaze desperate enough to scan Izaya's face for answers. "I didn't… I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to _do_…"

"Nothing. You don't have to do anything."

"I _killed_ someone, I—"

"It was an accident. An _accident_, Shizu-chan. It's not like you set out to do it. What he did to you, that wasn't an accident." When Shizuo began to look away, the 'I'm not listening to this' barriers already coming down in his eyes, Izaya reached up, turning the blond's face back to his. They both flinched a little when his fingers brushed wet skin. "They planned it, you know that don't you? They planned it for days. They set you up, made _sure_ they could hurt you."

"No…"

"Yes. And it had nothing to do with you being a monster, or you deserving it. You just got in their way." So, really, it _had_ been their reaction to everything Shizuo was, but he didn't think Shizu-chan could take an explanation that deep right now. "It's not your fault."

Shizuo shook his head again, tears still tracking silently down his cheeks.

"It's not your fault." Izaya repeated, bringing up the other hand to bracket Shizuo's face, not allowing him to look away. "It's not your fault." He thumbed away a fresh spill of angry, mortified tears when Shizuo squeezed his eyes shut to avoid looking at him. "It's not your fault."

A tremble ran back down the arm braced next to his head. He forced himself to stay still when the fist drew back, slamming into the door with lacklustre force.

"Get out of the goddamn way. I… I can't stay here. Let me go."

"No."

"Fuck it, Izaya, I said let me go!"

Shizuo tried to reach for the door handle. Izaya blocked it, shifting to cover the blond's escape route with his body.

"I'm done fucking playing," Shizuo growled a threat that he might've taken seriously if those damp eyes didn't look so distraught. "Get out of the fucking way. Now."

And he didn't know what else to do to make Shizuo stop apart from leaning up and crushing their lips together, tasting rain and salt and desperation. It was too much, he knew that - Shizuo's distinct lack of response told him that much – but he couldn't stop.

Sooner or later, Shizuo would come to understand what he was doing was the best thing he _could_ do. Sooner or later he'd realize that both times he'd been _Shizuo_ again had been after a confrontation with his attackers, which had to count for something. Sooner or later, he'd accept Izaya was right.

But damn it, he wanted more _now_. He wanted the things he did, albeit things that'd pan out for the best in the long term, to keep from pushing Shizuo away.

He wanted _this_, wanted Shizuo's mouth slanted across his own, tentative and wary but not pulling away, not biting down, not doing any of the things Shizuo _could_ do if he really didn't want this. Encouraged by even that small acquiescence, he deepened the kiss, teasing the seam of Shizuo's lips with the tip of his tongue. There was a point where dry, tense softness met wet heat, and he lingered there, feeling the shaky puffs of Shizuo's breathing warm against his tongue.

_No one kissed you like this. No one's_ ever _kissed you like this._

Shizuo groaned softly into his mouth, and Izaya shivered, greedily drinking it all in. The world was slowly edging back under his control. He'd screwed up royally today, and yet Shizuo was still here, mumbling something on ragged breaths that didn't sound anything like 'no'.

He couldn't tell which one of them moved first. Maybe Shizuo's arm buckled, making lean in closer. Maybe Izaya's hands just slid on the wet silk of Shizuo's hair until his hands were laced at the back of the blond's neck. Maybe it was just because he didn't want to let go. Maybe it was just because Shizuo let him.

He didn't feel himself sliding until his ass hit the floor. Shizuo's knee nestled between his parted legs, not quite touching but close enough to feel. Breaking the kiss, Shizuo dropped his forehead against Izaya's shoulder, a shudder skittering down his spine when Izaya dragged his fingertips over his face, letting the rainwater wash away the grainy tracks of tears.

"Izaya…"

"You don't have to do anything," he said again, combing his fingers through Shizuo's hair. "Just let me make you feel good, ne? Just let me make you forget for a little while."

Shizuo breathed a soft, pained laugh against his shoulder. At which suggestion in particular, Izaya didn't know. The whole concept of it, probably. Something in Shizuo's head still balked at associating _him_ with feeling good, just like it used to associate pain and shame with the most innocent of touches.

Well, he'd fixed that. The evidence was in his arms and making no move to extricate itself. Maybe he could fix the other one, too.

Leaning back slightly, he traced a fingertip from the hollow of Shizuo's throat to his chin, tipping the blond's face up. "I can, you know. But you're going to have to let me, Shizu-chan. If that's not what you want, then…"

"I just…" Shizuo looked away briefly, before frowning to himself. Izaya could all but _hear _the two worlds of 'then' and 'now' colliding in Shizuo's head; 'then', when someone like Shizuo could stare him down all day long if he chose to, and 'now', when… well, things were different. "You make it sound so fucking easy…"

Izaya shrugged. "Who ever said it had to be hard?"

No one, except all those little voices gnawing at Shizuo's mind, the ones that kept telling him that all this was a simple case of reaping what you sow. Honestly, Izaya still didn't know whether he could win out against them in the end, but every war started with winning the small battles, right? He wasn't keeping score, but he was pretty sure he was still coming out ahead.

"Do you trust me, Shizu-chan?"

A disconcerting frown of scrutiny narrowed Shizuo's eyes as he watched him. "With all the other crap you pull? Not a chance in hell. With this…?" That unsettlingly shrewd gaze shuttered with a sigh. "I _shouldn't_. You're an ass."

Izaya laughed softly. "Ah, I _knew _you'd been staring at my ass."

"Tch… shut up."

"I can't blame you. I know it must look terribly attractive to protozoans like you."

"Right…" And maybe they were on some strange new ground now, but at least Shizuo didn't seem too uncomfortable. It wasn't exactly a smile tugging his lips as he looked askance at Izaya and quirked a brow, "Is that why you _really_ made me chase you?" but it was probably the best he was going to get.

He smiled as he shooed Shizuo to his feet, watching the blond shiver with something that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. "Ah, close enough." He tugged at one damp shirtsleeve. "So, how about you go shower and get out of those wet clothes, ne?"

Shizuo looked a little confused. "Uh… yeah, okay."

"If you still want to go, that's fine, but at least wait for the rain to stop, hmm?"

They both glanced at the window in sync, where the rain still tumbled in sheets against the glass. The Shinjuku sky turned prematurely dark, and there was nothing visible past the hazy of grey but the odd slash of distorted neon and the lights of nearby buildings. He could quite easily believe they were cast adrift somewhere, a million miles from anyone else.

_I wish we were. Then no one could get in the way._

It didn't look as if the storm was stopping any time soon, but Shizuo just shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, that's… probably for the best, huh?"

Maybe. Giving Shizu-chan time to think and compose himself was certainly in _his_ best interest, even if it wasn't Izaya's. Honestly, he should have taken his chances, even if it meant making out in a wet, uncomfortable hallway. Taking advantage of Shizuo would never have bothered him _before_. He'd have gone out of his way to engineer a situation in which he _could._

But this wasn't before. And if Shizuo wanted the things he offered, Izaya wasn't going to let him blame it on fear or guilt, on not thinking or on getting carried away. If Shizuo wanted this, he was going to have to say so.

Stamping out the little voice muttering silly things about hypocrites and their double standards, he smiled at Shizuo's retreating back.

"Oh, I'm sure it is."

* * *

><p>He wasn't supposed to be here.<p>

Eyes closed, Shizuo turned his face up towards the hot darts of water spraying from the shower and wished it was as easy to wash away all the shit he'd done as it was to wash away the rain. The heat eased the chill from his skin, but the one wrapping tight around his bones would be harder to shift. He shouldn't even be trying to; he had no right to _not_ feel like crap. None.

He wasn't supposed to be here. By now he should've been…

_Gone. One way or another._

Right. And if all his options hadn't terrified the shit out of him, why the hell had he come back here? Why the hell had he come back to Izaya, knowing full well the flea was just itching to fill his head with all those clever, pretty words again?

_You have no right to hear it. You have no right to_ want _it. You know what you did; nothing he says can change or erase it. Nothing._

Neither could anything Izaya _did_, though God knew Shizuo wished the flea could make good on that promise. He didn't deserve to forget. He was still paying for _last_ time, but…

_Maybe that's what selfish monsters do._

Rinsing out his mouth, he couldn't help thinking about the heat of Izaya's lips, the taste of his tongue that Shizuo couldn't quite define except that it was rich and bad for you, like some exotic gateaux with fudge frosting slathered all over it. One taste and you were screwed.

And he was _really _screwed if he was comparing Izaya to cake. To something he wanted to taste, to savour, to feel those flavours melting on his tongue and enjoy devouring it tortuously slow.

Cracking one eye open, he cast a nervous glance down at his body, trying to figure out how it felt about that particular train of thought. Was he supposed to be appalled if it reacted, or disappointed if it didn't? Shit, a lot of the time it didn't even feel like it _belonged_ to him, let alone was cognizant enough to _react_.

The memories assaulted him as soon as he thought about it. Cold, greasy hands that'd been more interested in humiliating him than making him feel good.

It wasn't like he couldn't remember how it'd felt _before_, just that… everything felt so tangled, sensations muted and intertwined until he couldn't remember which ones went with what memories, and…

He couldn't remember, and basing his fears on the fragmented recollections of taunts and jeers didn't seem smart, but what if…

What if he'd reacted _then_? 'Cause it happened sometimes, didn't it? Even to bodies under far better control than his. He remembered that perverted four-eyes trying to sweet-talk him into a prostate exam - "I know you're only twenty three, but you can never be too early to start taking care of your health!" – and prattling on about how he shouldn't be embarrassed by any 'accidents' because that's what guys did. Obviously, he'd never found out first hand, and the only exam Shinra did that day was on the best way to remove coffee tables embedded in walls. But what if he had? How the fuck was he supposed to _look_ at himself again if he'd… if something like _that_ had been enough?

How was he supposed to let anyone else touch him, when he might've come from being _hurt_?

"_Just let me make you feel good."_

But last time… last time was okay. There'd been no horrendous flashbacks, no embarrassing the shit out of himself, assuming that jerking off in front of Izaya wasn't embarrassing enough. It had been damned difficult to feel uncomfortable when those lust-drunk eyes watched him through it all, sweet-talking in a much more persuasive way. And as long as he remained focused on that, none of the encroaching memories came close enough to touch him.

He didn't think the whole thing would've left him feeling so damn _guilty _if it'd been that bad.

Irritated, he shut off the water, listening to the silence as he snatched a towel from the nearby rail and wrapped it around his waist. What the hell was the point of worrying about it when he already knew he'd never go through with it. Izaya'd grow bored of that soon enough, and then they'd just go back to how they were.

_Right. Cause that was working out really well…_

_Someone _had left clean, dry clothes on the counter. Shizuo scowled half-heartedly at the clear streaks in the steamed-up mirror; he hadn't even heard the door open. What the hell happened to the days he could sniff out Izaya from ten blocks away?

Sighing, he pressed his clothes to his face. His clothes, only they didn't exactly smell like him anymore. A different detergent, maybe, or fewer cigarettes. Or just a new, rarefied air. It was kinda hard to discern the flea's scent when he could no longer remember a time he hadn't been wrapped up in it.

_Tch…_

He scowled at himself once more for good measure once he was dressed, and mouthed "You're an idiot" at the man staring back at him. Because he was. Hell knew what was waiting for him beyond that door, but he was gonna walk through it anyway because he didn't know what the hell else to do. At least this was his choice, right? No one was keeping him prisoner; the amount of time he could have – should have – gone with no repercussions was proof enough. Izaya hadn't come after him, had he? The only one bringing him back here, over and over, was himself.

And there were a million things he should be running scared from, but there was nothing quite so potent in that moment than all the reasons why.

The rain made the hallway unnaturally dark, as it continued to pelt the windows. Long, undulating reflections danced off every polished surface in Izaya's apartment, until it felt like being underwater. The only illumination came from the muted light spilling from the open door of the spare room.

It was his choice to turn towards it instead of towards the front door.

And that was probably the whole point.

In his head, the scenarios waiting for him hadn't been as innocent as Izaya stretched out, fully dressed, on the bed, hands pillowed behind his head, ankles crossed. He smiled lazily as Shizuo approached.

"Feel better?"

Shizuo shrugged. "I feel less like a drowned rat, if that's what you're asking."

Izaya sat up, fixing him with a look that said it really wasn't. But all he said was, "Come here."

There was something decidedly awkward about complying with that demand and not touching too much at the same time. He was still too warm from the shower to feel the proximity of Izaya's body heat, but every other sense was filled with him. That same scent that never failed to piss him off was failing spectacularly right now, and the bed had _never _made this much noise as it shifted and creaked under him. He'd probably fucking broken it; the day he left this place for real, Izaya was going to present him with a bill twice as tall as he was…

He got as far as the middle of the bed. He might've gotten further if Izaya hadn't chosen that moment to spread his legs, giving Shizuo space to move closer. Giving him the choice. Kneeling back, he shook his head, hands curling into fists on his lap.

Izaya didn't ask, just inched closer until his knees were either side of Shizuo's hips and it didn't matter where he looked, he couldn't escape the intensity of those eyes.

"I told you before, ne?" Cautious fingers teased a haphazard path from his elbows to his wrists. "Only as far as you want to go."

They'd done it so many times before – okay, not like _this _- that curling his fingers around Izaya's when they traced the back of his hand was as much an ingrained habit as reaching for his cigarettes. More chance of being burned with this one, but hey…

"Yeah. I know."

Satisfied, Izaya drew their entwined hands to his lips, tongue lapping at Shizuo's skipping pulse. "Good. Then maybe you could try making yourself more comfortable. Really, Shizu-chan, as loudly as you snore, I'd say you normally _love_ my bed."

He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth when Izaya nipped at the side of his wrist. "I don't fricking snore…"

"Ah, I hate to break it to you…" Izaya's eyes gleamed. "The first night you stayed, I thought someone left the vacuum cleaner on in here. Shizu-chan's so noisy…"

_So I'm noisy, I'm rough, I'm dumb… why the fuck do you want me anyway?_

Izaya let go, a stubborn cast to his expression that made it clear nothing was happening until Shizuo did as he was told. Muttering unflattering things under his breath that only made Izaya snicker, he hesitated for a moment before stretching his legs out. The flea made no move to back off, so the only place they could go was _over _Izaya's.

_Oh, no, that's not a fricking embarrassing position at all._

Even if it hadn't been, Izaya pretty much cemented it when he squirmed closer, hands sliding from Shizuo's thighs to his knees. His jaw tensed, but the touch didn't linger. Didn't matter; as much as he could still feel the path of those slender fingers, they might as well have seared slashes through his pants.

In hindsight, second-degree burns might've been easier to handle than watching Izaya pause, then reach for the hem of his own shirt, tugging it over his head in one fluid movement.

It wasn't as though he hadn't seen it before, but that night patching up Izaya's arm felt like years ago. He wasn't sure either of them were the people they'd been that night. Without thinking, he reached out, fingers curving around Izaya's upper arm and tracing the smooth raised edge of the scar.

"It's healing okay…"

Izaya shrugged. "I had a good doctor."

"Is this…" he frowned, because just _starting _the question made Izaya tense. "This wasn't a client, was it?"

"Shizu-chan, I can—"

"You got hurt 'cause of this crazy shit you've been doing." _You got hurt because of me._

Izaya blinked, then shook his head. Then _laughed_. Fucking bastard. Shizuo was about to turn away when Izaya's hands locked loosely around his forearms, stopping him.

"I promise, Shizu-chan. I didn't get hurt because of anything I've been doing. Come on…" Red eyes narrowed. "You know I'm more careful than that. ne?"

"You weren't careful then." His gaze slid back to Izaya's arm.

"Maybe not. But it was worth it, so I don't mind."

"You're fucking crazy…"

Izaya smiled. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, Shizu-chan." He let go of Shizuo's wrists. "But maybe touching me again might…"

Yeah… maybe it would.

Shit, Izaya was a scrawny little thing. At the best of times, he'd have been terrified that the gentlest press of his fingers would be enough to bruise. A stupid thing to think when he'd probably left countless bruises on this pale skin. If he knew where they'd been, he'd have tried to apologize for the damage he'd inflicted.

He figured he'd start with what he knew. Izaya made a pleased sound and closed his eyes when Shizuo reached for his arms again, fingers curving against wiry muscle. He knew Izaya wasn't some fragile flower, he'd seen the proof often enough when the flea bounced from one building to the next, goading him to keep up. But it was harder like this, feeling delicate skin under his hands, feeling the thud of that mythical beast, Izaya's _heart_, shushing through lean flesh.

So fucking _real_.

Izaya's collarbones seemed safe territory too; the flea showed them off enough with that stupid shirt of his. His pulse came harder here, through the faint tracery of veins under skin and he frowned again at how warm Izaya was. Stupid, of course he would be. People usually were. Just he'd always expected him to be a cold bastard, that the physical shell matched the personality. And it did, kinda; some of those bones were awfully sharp-edged, and there was deceptive strength in every lithe muscle. But it was all so warm. Then again, that was just like Izaya too, really. Screwing with his head again, taking his expectations and stomping on them.

He barely noticed his hands slipped lower until Izaya gasped, sounding as surprised as he was. A quick, embarrassed glance confirmed the heel of his hands just brushing Izaya's nipples. Frozen, and _really _at a loss on what to do with his hands, Shizuo just managed a mumbled, "Uh… sorry."

"Mmm…" Izaya smiled, eyes still closed. "Don't be." When Shizuo didn't move, those eyes slitted open, mahogany muted by a thick fringe of dark lashes. And if he was close enough to notice, he was probably _too_ close. "You don't have to stop. You're only scared of this when you stop and think."

"…Yeah, maybe." But when all he could do was shift his hands to rest awkwardly at Izaya's waist, the flea just sighed softly.

"Ah, but you did pretty well…" Those eyes were definitely too close now, Izaya's slow, wicked smile just a little out of focus. "Want to try the intermediate level, Shizu-chan?"

"Do I need to, ah…" He gestured vaguely to his own shirt, feeling the heat rush to his face. Izaya just smiled and shook his head.

"Not unless you want to."

"No." And he could tell by the way Izaya's smile turned wry, narrow brows drawn, that the relief must have shown on his face.

"I'm just going to touch you." Izaya leaned up, lips nuzzling his jaw and leaving a tingling current in their wake, like the flea was plugged into a thousand volt power source. "Just like all the times before. Okay?"

Instinct, and maybe a little bit of feeling like shit for putting that disappointed look in the flea's eyes, had him turning his head, meeting the nuzzle with his own lips as he nodded. "Yeah…"

"Good. But first, I'm going to kiss you." Izaya nipped at his lower lip, soothing the sting away with a sweep of his tongue before Shizuo even registered it was there. Dark eyes glinted up at him. "If you need to punch me, try not to aim for my face, ne?"

Shizuo snorted a soft laugh, but he must have done something right because Izaya smiled that cat-that-got-the-cream smile of his. He'd never have banked on the flea managing to look smug without any malice attached, but there it was.

He held himself still as Izaya wound his arms around Shizuo's shoulders, body moving sinuously as he leaned into the kiss. It was still a shock, every time those lips brushed his, but maybe he was getting better at it. Getting used to the way Izaya tasted, maybe, or just the way he moved so slow, like his body was giving him plenty of warning.

Not like the flea. But then, he was kinda kissing back, so not like him, either.

Izaya's control slipped a fraction when Shizuo slid a tentative, exploratory caress up his back, fingertips following the ridges of his spine. But he figured he probably did something right, because even if the kiss got a little messier, a little more demanding, the way Izaya arched into him and moaned against his lips felt… well, kinda good. Kinda like maybe he could do things other than hurt.

_Stupid… _

Especially when Izaya felt so light in his arms, so insubstantial. One wrong move, one second of panic, of red mist, and—

"No…" Izaya murmured into his mouth, tongue sliding warm and wet against his own. "Stop _thinking_…"

Apparently, Izaya thought Shizuo responded better to actions than words, because one hand raked along his thigh, thumb tracing the seam of his pants. Reflexively, he reached down, gripping Izaya's wrist hard.

"Wait, I…"

Izaya stopped. Watched him. _Waited_.

_Are you just gonna run away again?_

And maybe Izaya was right. None of the words catching in his throat seemed to do him any good. With his heart hammering hard enough it was probably tripping the sensors in some lab somewhere, he released Izaya's wrist, winding it shakily into the flea's hair instead and drawing him back into the kiss.

At least Izaya didn't ask again. Didn't ask if it was okay, if _he_ was okay, if he was sure. If he had, Shizuo wasn't sure he could've lied and said "Yeah."

The touch resumed where it left off, just kneading his thigh, thumb brushing back and forth. He tried to focus on how gentle it was, that really it was no different to the way Izaya'd touched his hand, or his back, or…

He shivered at the memory of Izaya's mouth, licking and kissing its way from his ankle to his knee. Whatever he'd thought when he suggested it, his _body_ had deemed it a fine idea.

Still did, apparently. Izaya smiled against his mouth, but instead of continuing on its trajectory, his hand slid up to Shizuo's hip instead, fingers grazing skin just above the waist of his pants.

"Whatever you're thinking about _now_…" Izaya purred a laugh, nipping at his jaw. "Keep doing it."

"You," he said, barely aware it wasn't just in his head until Izaya stared at him. "Thinking about you…"

The kiss took him by surprise again. Hungry, just a little bit aggressive, it made his head spin. Free hand tangling tight in his hair, Izaya was moaning something unintelligible in between slick, demanding strokes of his tongue, delving into his mouth around the same time as a warm hand slid under the waistband of his pants.

_Shit…_

His hips jerked when Izaya's fingers closed around him, his head telling him to pull away and his body…

He remembered other hands on him. But he couldn't remember anyone ever touching him like this before. He sucked in a breath, a sound he didn't even recognize as himself reverberating in his throat when Izaya stroked him once, fingertips whispering along the length of his shaft. Those fingers paused at the tip, squeezing playfully, thumb circling the head and Shizuo didn't know what appalled him most – that Izaya's fingers came away damp, or the whimper mercifully muffled by the kiss. Izaya just smiled, and stroked him again.

"Good, Shizu-chan?"

He had no idea. A part of his mind still remembered other hands – cold, slimy, rough – but every time they threatened to come to the fore, Izaya twisted his hand, or swept a finger across the crown, or squeezed tight at the base of his cock and it was hard to focus on memories when he couldn't even focus on his own name.

It'd been all he'd known. His own touch, and… But now there was this, erasing and replacing everything else.

"Yeah." He nodded, feeling a trickle of sweat slide down his spine, skin prickling with heat when Izaya worked his pants further down his hips. "Yeah…"

"Show me…" Izaya murmured, lips brushing the side of Shizuo's neck, tongue darting out to lick every now and then. "Show me what you like."

"I don't—"

"Yes…" Izaya kissed him again, tongue thrusting into his mouth in a way that made his entire body tighten. "You do."

His groans were swallowed up by the kiss when he edged his hand over Izaya's, fingers lacing between the flea's in a half-assed effort to guide the touch. Fuck guiding… he was just hanging on, going wherever Izaya wanted him to go. It should've felt worse than it did, he figured, but it wasn't as though he'd ever gotten very far by himself. It was pointless telling Izaya what he wanted, what he liked, when he didn't know himself.

_This. Whatever you're doing. This is enough._

Izaya unwound his fingers from Shizuo's hair, and somewhere through the deafening roar of his heartbeat in his head, he heard the fumbled clink of a belt buckle. Then Izaya was keening softly into the kiss, breathing too hard and too fast to keep any semblance of rhythm. Every hot pant was a jolt of electricity through his nerves, Izaya's unselfconscious need coaxing his own.

"Shizu-chan…!" Izaya's eyes snapped open when Shizuo grasped his wrist, stilling the frantic strokes.

He had no idea how to articulate what he wanted, but either Izaya already knew or they were both too far gone to care. Nodding dazedly, he shifted closer, until something hot and hard grazed the back of Shizuo's knuckles.

And they tried, damn it. If he closed his eyes, he'd be right back there, when the slick heat of another man's cock against his skin only meant pain, only meant humiliation, only meant _fear_. Izaya frowned at him when he froze, every muscle tensed in an effort not to let those memories drag him under, fighting the screaming, terrified thing in his head that just wanted to run and hide.

_No… you can't have this. You can't._

"Shizu-chan, you don't have to—"

"Shut up," he growled through gritted teeth, forcing his hand to unclench. "Just…"

Then either he shifted his hips, or Izaya bucked against him, but the result was the same when the head of Izaya's cock slid along the underside of his own, and it wasn't just different to _then_, it wasn't like anything he'd ever known before. Every thought scattered, blown away in the face of the overpowering, instinctive desire to just do that _again_.

"What're you…?" Izaya's free hand hard into his bicep as he fought to stay still when Shizuo stretched his fingers to accommodate them both within his grasp, shivering hard at the contact.

What was he doing? He had no fucking idea…

"Dunno…" Dropping his head against Izaya's shoulder, he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to stop shaking long enough to notice the way Izaya felt under his fingers. The slick skin was satiny and fever-hot, and when he pressed his fingers in a little harder they both cried out, stars dancing in his vision. He swallowed hard, feeling Izaya tremble against him. "Feeling good, right…?"

"Ah…." Izaya laughed a little, breathless and husky. "Well, in that case…"

"Shit…!" Those stars damn near exploded behind his eyes when Izaya rocked his hips, thrusting against him. His fingers tightened of their own accord, needing more of that heat, that friction. Izaya clung to him, lower lips caught tight between his teeth as his hips moved faster, pushing hard against the tight circle of Shizuo's fist. "Fuck, Izaya…."

"Shizu-chan, I…"

He looked up in time to see Izaya looking away, lips pressed tightly shut as he breathed out an exasperated sigh. Shook his head slightly. Frowned.

"Flea—"

He thought Izaya's eyes widened a little, but then his face was pressed into the crook of Shizuo's shoulder, breathing him in. "Feels good, ne, Shizu-chan…?"

It did. If it hadn't, maybe he'd have a few braincells left over to try and process that expression. As it stood, he had just enough mental capacity left to slide his free hand into Izaya's hair, holding the flea tight as they rocked against each other, now and then in perfect sync but more often than not just erratic and desperate. Shizuo didn't care. His body knew what it wanted, and it had always been more ruthless about going after those things than he was.

Then there was nothing in his head at all, except the molten fire licking up his spine, the whiteout behind his eyes, and _Izaya_, kissing and touching and just _there _through it all.

Erase and replace. Except he still couldn't tell which one was stronger, didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't chase those cloying memories away long enough to keep them from tainting this. If he ever though of _them_ while Izaya touched him, if he ever started blurring an already hazy boundary…

Izaya snickered softly against his shoulder, narrow chest heaving as he caught his breath. "Look… I made you shower just to get you messy again."

"Yeah…" Not just messy, but completely wrung out. His shirt stuck to him, his hair had dried in furrows from Izaya's fingers, and…

Izaya reached for his shirt, using it to clean them both up. Shizuo didn't know whether he was grateful or irritated; it would be hard deciding which memories won out if Izaya wouldn't let him experience either of them. And maybe he was just irritated _because_ he was grateful. He felt worn raw; testing his boundaries now was just…

_Not happening. Just enjoy it for what it is and… deal with the rest of it later. _

Because there'd be fallout. There always was. What it'd be this time, he didn't want to contemplate.

Untangling himself from Izaya's embrace, he dropped back against the bed with a sigh. Izaya followed after a moment, just curling up next to him like a cat. One hand reached for him, but other than that they weren't touching. Shizuo didn't think they had to. Even with his eyes closed, his body still tingled everywhere Izaya had touched him, their mingled scent still teased at his senses.

"Are you okay?"

He shrugged, nodded. "Yeah. But it ends here."

* * *

><p>"What?"<p>

Shizuo cracked an eye open at his reaction. Izaya _hoped _he hadn't screeched, but quite frankly he was more concerned by the fact it felt like his heart just stopped. He stared down at their interlocked hands, the fact Shizuo hadn't let go and his words not quite making a coherent whole.

"But, I thought…"

"Not…" Shizuo's eyes widened. He flushed as he looked away and Izaya was glad he didn't see the sheer relief in his eyes when his heart started beating again. "Not _this_… I meant the shit you're pulling with those guys. Promise me, Izaya. It _has _to end right here."

Oh. Ah, well…

It could, he supposed. To all intents and purposes, he had what he wanted. But somewhere along the way it had all morphed and twisted into something that wasn't _all_ about punishing the idiots foolish enough to throw a wrench in his plans, wasn't _all_ about triggering the old Shizuo to snap out of it and make his world acceptable again.

Now… now it meant something else entirely. As much as it was still getting even for Shizuo, it was getting revenge for himself. For the hand they'd forced, for all the things he'd been happy to lock away, for all the things they'd taken from them.

Shizuo was his. His to break, yes, but also his to discover, his to _please_, his to imprint until Shizuo couldn't think of anyone, any_thing_ but him. Those things would now never happen the way they could have. The way they should have. They'd left behind a Shizuo that couldn't – and maybe never would – deal with all the demands Izaya wanted to make of him. And this was enough for now, but Izaya knew himself - _feared himself_ - enough to know that maybe, some day, it wouldn't be.

_I'm sorry, Shizu-chan… you're making me lie to you again._

"Yeah…" He said, smiling wryly as Shizuo's eyes closed again, satisfied with the answer. "I promise."

He stayed there until Shizuo's breathing grew even and deep, before slipping out of bed. Still, he couldn't bring himself to go too far. The rain had eased, but it was still pattering the windowpane as he leaned against it and flipped open his phone, watching Shizuo snuffle in his sleep, nuzzling deeper into the pillows.

_You'll see, Shizu-chan. You'll see it'll make you feel better._

He looked away when the call connected.

"Ah, Shiki-san. I'd like to request a favour…"


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N : I keep forgetting to update here *hangs head* the request fics have kinda taken over lately. Thank you all for reading and reviewing! *hearts*  
><em>

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 134 - 145)  
><strong>_

_**Warnings:**__** Some implied references to rape, and also references to domestic abuse (not involving Shizuo/Izaya) which may be triggery for some. ...also warnings for another cliffhanger, I guess? XD  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Nineteen

When he woke up, the other side of the bed was empty. He didn't think Izaya'd gone far, but when Shizuo reached out to press a hand to the rumpled outline marking where he'd lain the sheets were cold.

Tch… the flea probably couldn't sleep without his security blanket of a computer screen's light.

Sitting up with a sigh, he stared at the window. Through a gap in the blinds, the pre-dawn city sky was a murky, soupy grey, but at least it had stopped raining.

_And you're still here. _

There were still a million reasons why he shouldn't be. Still a million reasons he should never have come back at all, when he'd made his mind up not to. What they'd done didn't change any of that.

Except for the part where it changed _everything_.

Scratching his chest absentmindedly, he padded out to the living room, scoffing softly under his breath at the sight that greeted him. Flea, drenched in screen-glow. He should've had money on it.

"You know it's not even six, right?"

"I could say the same to you, ne?" Izaya didn't look up. "You should go back to bed."

"I'm awake now."

"Is that my fault?" The tapping of the keys stopped momentarily.

"Nah."

Izaya's eyes shimmered with an eerie light as they looked up at him from behind the laptop. "Good. Shizu-chan looked like he was sleeping well. You weren't doing that thing…" He pressed a finger between his brows. "Frowning."

"You watched me sleep," Shizuo said flatly, guilty of what he'd been accused, if it even counted now he was doing it while he was awake. "'Cause, you know, that's not creepy."

"It's not creepy." Izaya ducked back behind the screen. "It's my house. I can watch my guests sleep if I want to."

"Sure. And that's why you don't have any friends."

Izaya glanced up at him briefly. "Ah, I'm wounded Shizu-chan. I though we were at least on civil terms now, ne?"

Were they? Something flippant in Shizuo's head shrugged and decided it was probably hard to going back to wanting to beat the shit out of someone if you'd just been jerking them off. If they'd just been doing the same back to you. If you knew how they tasted, if you knew the sounds they made and the way their eyes looked when they came.

Yeah… maybe 'civil' wasn't the word he'd have chosen – maybe he didn't even know what this _was_ enough to give it a name – but even he knew everything was different.

Too many seconds had ticked by without him answering for him to do it now without looking like an idiot. Izaya had long since turned his attention back to his work. Every now and then, his eyes would narrow at whatever flickered on the screen, and he'd breathe something irritatedly under his breath.

"Is this bugging you?" Shizuo asked gruffly, staring at his feet. "My being here."

"Hmm?" Izaya looked up. "Of course not. Give me a second, I'll be done with this."

Whatever the flea was doing, it didn't _look_ like something he could take or leave so easily. The thought crossed his mind that maybe Izaya hadn't been a hundred percent honest with him when he said he'd stop chasing his attackers. If he stopped to think about it, the concept of Izaya being a hundred percent honest about _anything_ was probably asking a hell of a lot.

And maybe he was losing it a little bit, because part of him wanted to believe Izaya was done lying to him. He was getting what he wanted, right? The flea was getting his way; there was no need to carry on doing this anymore. He'd done every damn thing he could – almost every damn thing – to make Izaya see it wasn't necessary. So if he believed Izaya would still lie to him about this, he'd have to believe it was because he hadn't done enough.

"So what the hell couldn't wait till some sane time of day?"

"Work." At Shizuo's 'I'm not buying that crap' look, Izaya sighed. "Really. Don't worry, it's just a little information gathering, nothing serious." He couldn't see the smile from the other side of the screen, but the way Izaya's eyes crinkled suggested it was sly. "It's cute how Shizu-chan worries, though."

"Yeah, well…" he grumbled, watching Izaya blink as though he'd expected Shizuo to deny it. "You get caught up in some messed up shit, the hell do you expect?"

"This isn't messed up. For me, anyway. This delightful gentleman, well…"

Shizuo stretched out on the couch, arms pillowed under his head. "Can't be up to any good if they need you on his ass."

"I don't ask questions, I just do my job. If there are things my clients don't want to discuss with me, I can respect that."

He supposed that was true. Despite it all, Izaya'd never once pushed for details, pushed for a blow by blow account of what'd happened to him.

"Besides, I'm being very well recompensed for my trouble," Izaya went on with a ridiculously cheerful smile. "That always helps."

Letting out a breath that even to his own ears sounded on the resigned side of disgusted, he dropped onto the couch, yawning as he gazed out of the window. The clouds scudding across the sky, low enough that he swore they covered the peak of the highest skyscrapers, seemed lighter and less threatening. It'd be another overcast day, probably, but it looked like the storm was over.

"What'd he do, anyway? This guy you're checking up on."

"Ah, that's…"

"Right, you can't discuss your clients or something, I get that. Sorry. Shouldn't have asked."

"It's not that." Izaya shook his head, not sounding particularly evasive. "I just don't want to bring up things that might make you… uncomfortable."

"Oh…"

"Ah, no, nothing like that. This is all consensual. Well, as far as paying for services rendered goes, anyway."

"That's all you can find on him? That he uses hookers? Ain't gonna get you very far when half the damn salarymen in this city do the same."

"But you have a skewed perspective on that, ne? Just because most of your work involved men in debt to their eyeballs to call girls doesn't necessarily make those figures bear out. I mean, I don't. And neither do you. We're bucking your carefully thought out statistic right here."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"But no, if it was normal prostitution I wouldn't get far, but when I made a few discreet enquiries, it turns out he likes them rather young."

He swivelled his head, watching Izaya with a grimace. "Young?"

"When I called expressing an interest – don't look at me like that," Izaya rolled his eyes. "It's called faking, Shizu-chan. _Faking_. Anyway, they offered me the top fourteen year old on their books. Apparently he's this guy's favourite, but if he's not available, slumming it with a fifteen year old is an acceptable alternative."

"Four…" he trailed off. "Then don't give me 'consensual' bullshit. That's fucking _sick_."

"Fourteen year olds are hardly innocent flowers, Shizu-chan." Izaya sounded amused. "You and I never were."

"That's different. Any kid that thinks they have to do shit like that…" He grit his teeth, glaring up at the ceiling and glad it was too dark for Izaya to see he was shaking. "That's _nothing_ like the crap we did."

"Well, then…" Izaya stopped typing. When Shizuo glanced over, he was staring at the screen with a faraway expression, chin resting on one hand. "It's a good thing this information will probably lead him to his comeuppance then, isn't it?"

"Damn fucking straight…" he muttered quietly, before frowning. "Or, y'know, you could just hand his ass in to the cops. That'd work too."

"Oh, please…" Izaya snickered. "You know it doesn't work like that, Shizu-chan. I mean, I don't remember you running to those fine public servants to report what happened to you. No…" He stretched his arms above his head, and the resulting cricking sounds from spine and shoulders made Shizuo wonder how long the flea had been at this. Had he even stayed in bed at all? "Sometimes the only thing that can stop a monster is another monster, ne?"

If that was a dig at him, Shizuo wanted to ignore it. "Is this the kind of stuff you do all the time?"

"It happens."

"Then no fucking wonder you're so warped."

The light from the screen shut off when Izaya closed the laptop. The living room was filled with enough grainy illumination to silhouette him against the window as he stood from the desk and walked over to the couch. _Fragile_ came to mind again, watching that skinny frame make its way closer. It wasn't like Izaya'd lost weight or something lately, so Shizuo really had no excuse for never noticing before. The flea'd been just as breakable last time Shizuo'd tried chasing him down, so why was it different now? Why did it _matter_ now? Why did something cold settle in his gut when he imagined Izaya getting in to deep with bastards who didn't use fists or road signs, but bullets or blades?

Izaya's _presence _carried weight, he supposed. Like those bugs that could make themselves look bigger, more dangerous, more 'don't fucking mess with me'.

Shooing Shizuo's feet out of the way, Izaya sat down before tugging his ankles back onto his lap. If it wasn't so comfortable in that lazy, early-morning way, it would've been fricking embarrassing. Tracing distracted circles around his anklebones, Izaya shrugged.

"The world is warped, Shizu-chan. It's cruel, and greedy, and selfish and _fascinating _because humans are all those things too. They can't help it; it's just what it means to be alive. To survive." He glanced at Shizuo, smiled a little in the half-light. From this angle, it looked almost demonic. "And now you're thinking 'but people do good things too', ne? Tell me the last time you can think of someone doing something good without expecting something in return. And tell me the last time that fantastical concept of altruism was ever rewarded with anything but a slap in the face?"

For all the times he'd tried to figure out what was in this whole thing for Izaya, why he'd do this and lie away all the reasons why, it was kind of dumb to think "This. I can think of _this_." Except he knew now what Izaya wanted, and…

He hunched in on himself a little, and muttered, "Cynical bastard."

"Realistic, Shizu-chan." Izaya shook his head. "That way it's impossible to be disappointed, and sometimes, very very occasionally, my humans do something that exceeds even my expectations."

"What 'your' humans? People don't belong to anyone."

"But a commodity is a commodity, ne? It can be traded, or sold, or thrown away. Its value can rise or fall depending on supply and demand. I don't see much difference, honestly."

"Yeah. Now we're back to why you have no friends, huh? 'Cause most people don't expect their friends to sit around working out their worth and whether they should trade in for a newer model."

Izaya laughed. "Ah, but they do, Shizu-chan, that's the whole point. That's exactly what humans do. That's why watching them make their inexorable mess is so addictive. It's like a comfort movie. You know what happens, you know where it's going, but you make enough popcorn to see you through to the end anyway."

"Yeah? So what about the shit where the ending's not even written yet?"

"Shizu-chan's so profound."

He scowled. "That's not profound, that's just… common fricking sense. However much you think you control all this shit, one day it's not gonna go like you planned."

"But that's every day with you, ne?" Izaya smiled. "I could always count on you for that little service."

"Tch… I'da thought I was about the most predictable person you knew. You showed up, I kicked your ass. Next day, same thing. Maybe if you weren't always up to no good, your day might've gone differently."

"You'd still have found a way to mess me up. Anyway… I might love humans, but I think I'm glad I'm not a part of the world they make. It's not a nice place, ne? You of all people should know that."

Shizuo snorted softly. "You already forgotten that pretty much the biggest reason my life wasn't a nice place was _you_?"

"No. But you never played by the rules, so I didn't see why it was necessary that I should either." Izaya sent him a sidelong smile, showing just a predatory hint of teeth. "You make me break all the rules, Shizu-chan. You really are a nuisance."

"Tch… like rules have ever meant the same thing to you as they do to everyone else."

Izaya shrugged. "They're a minor inconvenience, that's true. But maybe I phrased that wrong. You make me break all _my _rules. That's a problem for me."

"So what're you gonna do about it?" He closed his eyes. "Kill me?"

He forced himself to stay still as he felt Izaya move. Forced himself to focus on the slightly off-rhythm in-and-out of his breathing as the couch cushions dipped under the slight weight as the flea came closer. Shizuo had one knee bent up, the other foot on the floor, and if it wasn't for the slow, measured way Izaya moved, he'd have flinched at the first press of a knee between his legs. Still trying to process that, his eyes snapped open at the cool touch of fingers circling the back of his throat in a loose collar. Izaya looked down at him, head cocked.

"You look like you might let me."

Maybe he would. But what'd be the point of stopping Izaya's screwed up crusade only to make him spill more blood?

It was still weird, watching his hands move and still not think he had full control over what they did. He'd gotten over that, eventually, when they were punching things, breaking things. Maybe some day he'd get used to them touching Izaya, too. Those wrists felt bony and delicate in his hands, like if he held on too tight they'd snap. He didn't want to hold on tight; just brushing his thumbs across Izaya's pulse-point was enough. "You look like you think you _can_."

Even in the dim light, he could see Izaya's eyes glint at that. His hands shifted from Shizuo's throat to splay against his chest instead.

"Well… like you said, the ending isn't written yet, ne? Going by your logic, you have to accept that before all's said and done I just _might_."

Feeling his heartbeat pound against Izaya's palms, he nodded. "Yeah… if anyone's gonna, it'll probably be you."

He kept his eyes open when Izaya leaned down, brushing his lips over Shizuo's. Not out of any fear, not really, just to keep watching the way the flea smiled. Like he'd done something, said something right. But it was _true_, he thought, as Izaya's lips clung to his like velvet. If he didn't do it himself, he didn't know anyone else who could. And maybe Izaya wouldn't make it quick, but he wouldn't want him reduced to a hollowed out shell first.

'_Cause I'm not worth you killing me like that, huh? Isn't that what you said, once..?_

Izaya lifted his head, their lips still touching as he spoke. "I told you, ne? If you let anyone or anything else kill you but me, I'm not going to be pleased."

"Yeah…" Releasing his grip on one wrist, he watched surprise flicker in Izaya's eyes when he tentatively combed his fingers into soft black hair. Then those same eyes fluttered shut, as the flea leaned into the touch. "I remember."

"Good…" Izaya turned his head, lips against Shizuo's wrist. "I hate to think how much information it'd take to raise the dead, and it'd be such a waste if all I was going to do was kill you all over again."

"Tch…" He shivered a little. "I'm surprised you haven't tried already."

"It's on the agenda." Izaya leaned down, kisses tracing the line of Shizuo's jaw, before feathering over his mouth again. Just lips, no tongue. A take it or leave it sort of kiss, demanding nothing in return but at the same time not giving quite enough.

It wasn't like he'd done a whole lot of kissing _before_, but for all they'd done to him, nothing about the simple act reminded him of much. Not when Izaya tasted salty-sweet, like the rain that came with thunderstorms, or accidentally taking a sip of soda right after you brushed your teeth. And he didn't think he could do it at all if Izaya hadn't stilled at the first shy flick of Shizuo's tongue along his lower lip. It made him think maybe this _could_ be his choice, his pace.

_What the hell's gonna happen if I choose you, huh? Who the hell are either of us gonna be if that happens?_

Izaya made him work to coax his mouth open. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn the flea was the one stunned stupid, not him, but the sound vibrating in Izaya's throat when their tongues touched in a hesitant nudge was too satisfied, too _proved right_ to be surprise. Anyway... what the hell could the likes of him do to surprise someone as control-freak paranoid as Izaya?

Not much. Before, he might've known, but _before_, this wouldn't be happening away.

Izaya kissed the way he fought: sly and teasing, always darting out of the way whenever Shizuo thought he had a good aim. But unlike their fights, now and then he let himself be caught, let Shizuo work up the nerve to slide his tongue against his, or trace the even, smooth edges of his teeth, or follow the seam of soft lips.

The knee pressed between his thighs rocked against him, but Izaya barely seemed to notice he was doing it. Shizuo's body felt like it _could _take an interest if he tried, but he was content enough with the kiss, with the slow thrust of Izaya's tongue clouding his senses. He'd never have thought Izaya could be gentle. Even when the flea had been playful, there were sharp corners to it just waiting to cut him up. But this…

Someone moaned softly into the kiss, a low rumbled sound. They both seemed a little surprised that it was _him_. He felt himself flush as Izaya breathed a laugh against his lips, following the hushed heat with a lazy drag of his tongue. He could all but hear the snickered thought in that screwed up head – "Shizu-chan likes kissing me."

Yeah. He kinda did. And that should've been warning enough that it was a bad idea.

After a while, the deep, slow strokes drew back to little nuzzles, like they both knew the kiss was done but didn't want to quite let go yet. To hell with letting go, he should never have clung on to begin with. Letting go was bolting the stable door on a horse that was already fifty fucking miles away and _laughing_ at him.

"Okay?" Izaya breathed against his lips, barely touching. Shizuo nodded.

"Yeah…"

Content with that, Izaya dropped his head to pillow on Shizuo's chest, head tucked under his chin. And it was still stupid and embarrassing, but he watched his hand thread into Izaya's hair anyway, keeping him close.

"Go back to sleep." Izaya murmured against his chest. "It's still early, ne?"

_Are you gonna be there when I wake up?_

"Yeah…" He turned his head, watching the first glow of a milky sun peeking through the Shinjuku skyscrapers. "I guess it is."

* * *

><p>Under the single light-bulb's glow in a dingy backroom office, the gruff Awakusu-kai executive shook his head at the photographs Izaya had placed on the table before pushing them back towards him.<p>

"No."

"I can guarantee your men's safety, if that's what you're worried about."

Shiki frowned at him from the other side of a screen of cigarette smoke. "No, you can't, Informant-san, and that's only a small part of everything that worries me." He cast another glance at the photos. "Why are you involving a woman and a child in this?"

"I have my reasons."

"Not good enough." Shiki shook his head. "Not good enough for me to instruct my men to kidnap the wife and daughter of one of the Wakahisa.

With one index finger, Izaya turned the photos around. A harried looking Hanako Nishimura and obliviously happy Megumi stared back at him from the surveillance camera stills. They'd been shopping at a department store. Well, looking at things wistfully and putting them back. Whatever Nishimura was doing with all the money that sieved through his hands, it wasn't going here. Not that Izaya would have gone any easier on him if it had.

He'd weighed up the pros and cons of taking Nishimura out first, or going for both the remaining men simultaneously. Most people in Takahashi's position now – two of his accomplices dead and the third on the chopping block – would go underground, cover their tracks, do their damndest to throw their pursuer off the scent. And while it was a risk he was willing to take, because whatever Takahashi did, Izaya was confident he could still find him, he couldn't help but base the decision on everything he'd learned about the man. Rash. Prone to making bad decisions. Lazy. Complacent. Arrogant.

No… Takahashi would still be confident himself that nothing could touch him. The other three had been pawns, after all. Disposable lackeys. He probably justified his actions by blaming them for the original intervention in the first place. He'd never make a mistake like that _himself_.

Besides… he wanted to enjoy playing with Nishimura without having to look over his shoulder, and he wanted to enjoy watching what Takahashi would do, how he might react to the news.

Shizuo was back to spending his days on Izaya's couch, grumbling more out of instinct than sincerity at how touchy-feely Izaya was, and going easier on the cigarettes. Even if the remaining two _had_ jumped to the conclusion that he was the one behind it all, he was still safe enough there. And by the time he wanted more, it'd all be over.

"I'm not requesting a kidnap." Izaya made a face, the word itself sounding well beneath him. "All I'm requesting is… let's call it transportation. Pick them up, make it look worse than it is, and deliver them to me. That's it. It's an hour's work, maximum. I have Nishimura's schedule for the next week, and I've marked out all the available windows of time. There's no security at the house." He shrugged. "I can provide your men with all the information they need."

"And when those Wakahisa idiots come after my men?"

"No one will tie your people back to this, you have my word. They have no reason to, but if it happens, I'll step in myself. If I had the manpower to _do _this myself, I would."

Shiki arched a brow. "A pity you didn't cultivate a better friendship with someone like Heiwajima, then, isn't it? He'd have been quite handy in situations like this."

Izaya bristled. "He's got nothing to do with this."

"I never said he did." Shiki watched him, one arm draped over the back of the couch. "But it can't have escaped your notice that the rumour mill is going crazy over here, wondering what's happened to him. A man like that doesn't just disappear for a month without a good reason." He took a drag, blowing the smoke up at the light-bulb with a casual shrug. "Someone said they'd seen him in Shinjuku last week. But that can't be possible, because you'd know."

"And it can't have escaped your notice that I don't have him on a leash. He's perfectly free to go anywhere he chooses."

Shiki nodded amiably. "So I guess the reason you've been scarce in Ikebukuro recently is just because you just have no business here anymore."

"I gave you your little competitor, didn't I? On a plate. I didn't do that from Shinjuku."

"True enough…" Shiki leaned forward to stub out the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. Izaya thought about Shizuo's plate, and wondered if he should pick up something more suitable on the way home. "What are you doing? If you tell me why this is so important, I might consider it."

Izaya shook his head. "In that case, Shiki-san, I'll have to take my business elsewhere. As you well know, my client's confidentiality is—"

"I'd buy that if I thought this _was_ for a client. But in all the years you've worked for me, I've never seen you like this. You wouldn't take risks like these – risks that can and will rebound on _you _- for any client. No amount of money could make you do this." Shiki narrowed his eyes. "This is personal. Isn't it?"

Izaya smiled blandly. "Work is never personal, Shiki-san. You know me better than that."

"Yeah," Shiki snorted a soft laugh, "that's why I have my doubts."

Getting to his feet, Izaya brushed off the remark with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Then it's lucky for me that I don't, hmm?"

"Over confident, too?" Shiki sounded amused. "You're really going all out."

"And if you can't help me in this instance, Shiki-san, I'll just be going."

"I'm just telling you it's easy to lose perspective when you start to blur those boundaries. With all due respect, Informant-san, you pride yourself on your distance, and likely with good reason. But you're out of your depth here."

"Well… then I'll just have to learn how to swim, ne?"

Shiki sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. If Izaya didn't know better, he'd swear the older man's frown lines were more pronounced than usual. Shrugging noncommittally at the silence, he was halfway to the door when the other man spoke again.

"You can have two." Shiki held up two fingers to emphasise the point. "That should be enough. But the first sign of trouble and they have my orders to leave. They do still answer to me, after all."

"There won't be any trouble." Izaya nodded, keeping his face blank to ward off the relief. "I have no intention of harming them. Quite honestly, I'm doing them a favour."

And sooner or later, Hanako would come to realize that. The sooner the better, Izaya decided; if her hesitation made Shizuo suspicious, he'd have to reconsider his options.

"And you'll be doing several for me in exchange for this, Informant-san."

Shiki watched him leave, looking far too observant for Izaya's liking. Ah, one problem at a time…

"Naturally."

* * *

><p>"Whatever the fuck you're doing, stop it. Now."<p>

Forearms braced on the open windowsill, watching the wind whip away the ash from the cigarette dangling from his fingers on the other side of the glass, Shizuo scowled at Izaya's reflection. The flea paused, shrugged, then carried on pacing back and forth across the living room behind him.

"I'm waiting for an important call."

Shizuo glared at his cigarette. He was getting better about cutting back, but sometimes he just needed to light one, feel the smoothness of the filter between his fingers, watch the smoke curl. Izaya, living up to the sheer mind-numbing irritation of his nickname, however, made his fingers itch to reach for the whole damn pack. At once. "And you can't wait sitting still?"

"It's important," Izaya said again, like that explained everything. Maybe it did, in Flea. "And I'll need to go out for a while after, so if you order food, don't bother getting anything for me. I don't know when I'll be back."

Shizuo shrugged in acknowledgement, resting his chin on his arms as he stared out over the city.

"Actually, I thought maybe I'd go see Celty, so I'll probably get something on the way."

Izaya frowned at something on his phone for a long while before he finally looked up and shrugged. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"There some reason it shouldn't be?"

Izaya scowled at his phone again. Whatever the hell was on there, Shizuo felt the urge to snatch it out of the flea's hands and smash it against the wall. "Ah… no, I suppose not. But I'm going out, so you could always ask her to come here instead. She knows where I live, ne? And you're less likely to have Shinra tagging along."

"You don't think I can, do you?"

"I didn't say that." Izaya finally pocketed the phone, turning to face him. "If you feel you can, then why are you asking my opinion?"

"I wasn't _asking_. I just… didn't want you come back and thinking…"

"That you'd left? You could just leave me a note." Izaya looked as though he as enjoying Shizuo's awkward fumbling _far_ too much. Bastard flea. Like he wouldn't get the third fricking degree if he just took off with a scrawled "back later".

He shouldn't have said anything. What the hell had he expected, for Izaya to pat him on the back and say 'you can do it, champ!'. Izaya was a control freak who probably had belittling other people so ingrained he didn't even notice he was doing it.

"Look…" Izaya withdrew his wallet, plucking out half of Shizuo's weekly wage without a blink and dropping it casually on the counter. "At least take enough with you that if you do decide to take a cab instead, you can."

"I don't need your money."

"And I'm not giving it to you for your own good." Izaya snapped, before sighing and shaking his head. "Just take it, ne? It'll save everyone the trouble if you cause a scene on the train. I'll see you later, Shizu-chan."

And with a wave of the hand and the flutter of a coat, he was gone, leaving Shizuo staring at the money are trying to piece together what the hell that conversation had _really_ been about.

Ah, what the hell did it matter? As preoccupied as Izaya'd been with whatever call he was expecting, he probably wouldn't even remember what either of them said. And now the flea was gone, taking with him a decent portion of Shizuo's ire, he could sort of see the point; thinking about it, having a fucking panic attack at the station and knowing his only other option was walking home wasn't pleasant.

Tch… to hell with monsters and humans, _that_ was the real difference between them. Izaya thought too much, and Shizuo didn't think enough. At least, not about the important shit that actually mattered.

He'd take the money, but only on the off chance he might need it. If he couldn't handle a train ride to Ikebukuro and the short walk to Shinra's place…

Snatching up the money, his keys and his cigarettes, he shoved them in his pockets and turned to leave before he lost his nerve. He didn't even know whether Izaya really thought he'd fail at this, but fuck it if he was proving the flea right before he even got out the door.

Almost as an afterthought, he took his own keys with him, too.

He half expected to see Izaya lurking outside the door, or in the lobby, or on the street, waiting to see whether he'd actually go through with it. But the hallway was empty, and the only other person in the lobby was one of Izaya's neighbours. If he hadn't seen them occasionally, he would've believed Izaya made them up, or paid actors to pose as fellow residents while secretly owning the entire building or something. The first time one of 'em stared, bug-eyed at his awkward greeting, and scuttled away as soon as they could was the time that theory went out the window. Even Izaya couldn't buy reactions like that.

He tried not to think too hard about it when he stepped past the swishing lobby door and onto the street. It was just a street. Just people. No big deal.

Neither was the walk to the station. Unlike last time he'd stumbled through the streets of Shinjuku, no one recoiled in horror when they stared at him. They gave him space, yeah, but he figured that was more to do with the way he _always _looked, rather than the fear in his eyes.

_But nothing's changed,_ something whispered insidiously in the back of his mind. _Everything you were running from then hasn't gone away. You hurt someone. Someone like you has no right to enjoy anything, let alone peace…_

He kept his head down as he navigated his way through the crowds at the station, flinching every time someone bumped into him. The urge to lash out at it was still conspicuously missing, and in its place was still that desperate urge to run. Back to the apartment. Back to Izaya's couch. Back to the only place he still felt safe.

But he had to do this. He had to prove to himself he still could.

He'd deliberately picked a time of day when the trains would be quieter, but this was still Shinjuku. Quiet here meant the crowds hovering at the train doors were only six deep instead of seven. At least he was taller than most of them. Yeah, it meant he stood out – he still remembered, vaguely, a time when that had been a _good _thing - but it went a long way to chasing away the claustrophobia.

On the train, he tried to distract himself by planning what he'd do when he got to Ikebukuro. What he might say if he ran into anyone he knew. It wouldn't be hard to avoid Tom and Vorona; he knew their schedules and routines, after all, knew where they were likely to be at this time of day. Unless they'd taken on new clients or something in his absence, he could probably sneak around without bumping into them.

He wondered, gazing out of the window as the grimy grey of the city shot by, whether they'd decided to take on a new colleague. Nah. They didn't need to. Vorona was more than capable of taking his place without anyone blinking at the switch. She could have stepped into his position any day of the week, and really they'd been stretching the workload sometimes to accommodate all three of them. Plus his manager was down his salary _and_ his damages bill. Everyone won, right?

What the hell would he say to them, anyway, if he met them? The people he'd thought – hoped – were friends felt like strangers now, passing acquaintances who hadn't really known much about him from the start.

_And whose fault was that?_

By the time the train drew in to Ikebukuro station and he waited for half the other passengers to get off first before even trying to do so himself, he hardly wanted to see _anyone_. No one would be expecting him; it'd been a spur of the moment decision, so it wasn't like he was letting anyone down, worrying anyone. For all he knew, Celty and Shinra were out working anyway.

He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, stilling when his fingers brushed his apartment keys.

…_I should probably go and check everything's okay there, huh?_

Halfway down the street, just fiddling with his cigarette wasn't enough. People were staring, he knew they were. Knew what had happened. Knew he was a monster.

Knew what he'd done.

Even while his heart wanted nothing more than to throw all Izaya's money at the nearest cab, he kept moving. He just needed to do something that'd help him blend in, that was all. Something normal. Something human.

…Something he should have done weeks ago.

He still had the phone Izaya'd loaned him. He'd need to find a new one of his own sooner or later, but the number he was dialling was just as likely to be busy or not pick up regardless of where the call originated.

Keeping his head down, he focused on the way his feet moved, the way the pavement felt under his shoes as he waited for the call to connect.

"Yes?"

Nothing had changed. People were still probably staring at him, the streets were just as grey and crowded as they'd been before, but it was weird how one syllable did something to the way he saw the world that mimicked what a sunbeam might do. Cut through the crap, bright and clear.

"Hey…" he found himself smiling. "It's me."

"Nii-san?" He heard someone speaking to Kasuka in the background, and despite what sounded like his brother placing a hand over the mouthpiece to drown it out, heard a surprisingly firm "this is important" before he came back on the line.

"Ah, you're busy, I can call back—"

"No," Kasuka said. "It's fine."

"If you're sure. I don't wanna get you in trouble."

"You won't."

He'd even raised his head a little as he listened to Kasuka's voice. He only noticed when he accidentally kicked an empty can across the sidewalk, and realized he wasn't staring at his shoes anymore.

"Okay. I, uh… just wanted to let you know everything's okay. In case you… heard some shit."

Kasuka was silent. Shizuo reached up to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, coming up a little surprised when the nervous habit just met skin. It wasn't that he felt naked without them or something, but there was something unsettling about missing that fragment of armour.

"I've… decided to take a break from 'Bukuro for a little while."

"Okay."

"Not 'cause of anything in particular. I just… needed to get away for a while, you know?"

"Not really," Kasuka said, inadvertently making him smile again. "But if that's what you want, then it's okay."

"Yeah, it is. But I kinda… didn't tell too many people I was leaving, so in case you hear some crap from people that I'm 'missing' or something, you know it's not true, 'kay? I'm just…" He paused, at a loss as to how to phrase it. "Staying with a friend."

"All right."

Ridiculously, something tightened in his chest at that. At the quiet acceptance that someone like him _had _friends to begin with. Kasuka had to know there wasn't anyone new in his life that he'd trust enough to stay with, because who the hell else would Shizuo tell if there was, but he accepted it anyway.

He kept up the conversation until he wound up on his street. Kasuka answered with soft, undemanding monosyllabic responses whenever it was required of him, but it was comforting enough just listening to the silence stretching over the line. It was enough to know that if he said the word, there'd be a car here for him before he hung up the phone. If he wanted a new apartment, or if he wanted to get out of Tokyo altogether, all he had to do was say so. That they both knew he never would was immaterial. Sometimes, he felt like the shittiest big brother in the world, because they both also knew he could never offer half of that back. Couldn't offer anything except not being a nuisance to his brother by keeping out of his way.

"Anyway…" He fished his keys from his pocket as he jogged up the steps, aware of how unfamiliar these things that had been his life for so long felt. "I'll letcha get back to work. I don't wanna piss those TV guys off for your slacking."

"They won't mind," Kasuka said, and Shizuo just pictured his little brother giving his bosses that same deadpan, unrepentant look he'd given him after stealing his pudding. "Nii-san…?"

"Hmm?" He pinned the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he unlocked his door, edging it open like something was about to spring out at him. If there'd be anything, it'd be the trash he forgot to take out before he left.

"If there's anything you need, then… call, all right?"

Shizuo smiled. "Yeah, I will. Don't worry, 'kay? I'm fine."

_And all the better just for hearing your voice. _

Kasuka accepted that with a quiet "Okay" before he hung up. Shizuo stared at the glow of the phone's screen until it finally dimmed, before shoving it back in his pocket. He scanned the dark open maw of the doorway again before taking a breath, and stepping over the threshold.

"Well, well…" A voice came from behind him. "Look what the cat dragged in."

* * *

><p>Wonderful.<p>

Just what he needed, to worry about Shizu-chan while he was trying to watch his own back. Izaya huffed out an annoyed sigh as he stalked towards the apartment building where he'd instructed Shiki's men to deposit the Nishimuras. He'd checked his phone so many times his fingers hurt from clenching the plastic, and he'd lost count of the times he'd opened the numbers list. He'd considered calling Shizuo, calling Shinra, even calling his dear courier who'd no doubt decide it was all his fault that poor Shizu-chan was wandering all alone in the world.

Che… if he could have locked Shizuo in, he would have. But the blond wasn't his prisoner, and nothing much held him in or out anyway. If he wanted out, there wasn't much Izaya could do about it except encourage him to do it in the safest possible way for them all. At least he could be confident enough that Celty would bring Shizuo home, whether he wanted her to or not. She might still hate the fact he was staying with Izaya, but she wouldn't watch her friend struggle home on the train by himself.

The apartment block in Shibuya was above a convenience store near the train station, bland enough that it could be anywhere within the metropolitan area without giving it away. He'd already arranged for the windows to be blocked off; if Shiki's men had done their job right, Hanako would have no idea where she was.

Aside from that one little liberty missing, the apartment was comfortably furnished, stocked with plenty of food and amenities. He'd even gone to the trouble of picking up some toys to keep Megumi entertained. He could control Hanako, exert fear, threats, and disorientation. Keeping a screaming kid quiet without arousing suspicion was a whole different game.

Everything seemed quiet enough as he trotted up the steps to the fourth floor, letting himself in to the nondescript apartment. Switching keys, he unlocked the second door – because you couldn't be too careful – he heard the scrape and clatter of a dining chair hitting the floor as Hanako stood abruptly at his arrival.

"Nakura-san…!"

Izaya tilted his head, smiled. "Not quite, but it's good enough."

"Did you do this?" Hanako backed up towards the boarded over windows, gaze scanning the room for Megumi. The little girl had been playing with some dolls over by the couch. Children were so ridiculously resilient, he had no idea why adults coddled them so much. She looked up at her mother's rather dramatic reaction, smiling hesitantly when she saw Izaya as though it didn't make sense that Hanako was now yelling at someone she'd been so polite to before.

"Hi, Megumi-chan." Izaya waved. "Are you having fun on this adventure? It's like camping out, ne? Exciting!"

"Adventure…" Hanako stared at him, red-rimmed eyes wide. "What's going on? Why did you do this? What do you even want with us, we've never—"

"Ah, you misunderstand." Izaya held up a hand to silence the tirade. It was empty, but as sharply as Hanako cowered away from him, he might as well have held his knife to her throat. "So jumpy, Nishimura-san…" He smiled slowly, explanation temporarily forgotten. "Anyone would think you were used to men lashing out at you."

A quiet sound escaped her lips as she backed up further, gaze averted. Chuckling softly, Izaya righted the dining chair she'd tipped over and sat down.

"Anyway, like I was saying, I don't want anything with you. My little quarrel is with your husband."

Hanako still didn't look at him, but her fingers snuck under the sleeve of her sweater. "My husband would never hurt anyone." The words were robotic, practised, as though she'd spent hours reciting the line in the mirror, learning it by rote. "My husband is a good man. You must have made a mistake."

"No mistake, Nishimura-san, or…" He leaned forward a little. "I can call you Hanako-chan, ne? No, Hanako-chan, there's no mistake." She tried to dodge when he reached out, but her movements were clumsy with fear and Izaya wasn't encumbered by anything so silly. He gripped her wrist, pushing the sleeve up to reveal a mosaic of bruises, in various stages of healing. No doubt the ugly pattern repeated itself elsewhere on her body, but he had no interest in making sure. "And I'm going to guess that you know that, really."

Hanako snatched her wrist back, yanking her sleeve down before cradling her arm to her chest. "That's not… it's not how it looks. You don't know him, you don't know anything about us, it's…" She shook her head, a guilty glance darting towards Megumi. "Please, Nakura-san. If…" she swallowed, gaze fixed on the floor. "I have to go back. If we go back now, everything'll be all right. I won't tell him what happened, so—"

"Oh, I don't care about that…" Izaya withdrew his phone, flipping through the files until he came to the photographs he'd instructed Shiki's men to take of the kidnapping. A bound Hanako and a shrieking Megumi filled the screen as he turned it around to show her. "I _want _him to know what happened."

"No…" Hanako shook her head. "You don't understand, he'll—"

"Only if you let him, Hanako-chan."

"I don't…"

"I'm offering you a way out, ne?" He murmured. "Don't tell me you haven't dreamed of it. Don't tell me you haven't longed for someone to come along and offer what I'm offering. Ah, but that's the trouble with you humans… you long, and pine, and yearn, and fantasize, but when the reality is within your grasp you turn tail and run."

Hanako kept shaking her head, but he didn't miss the way her thin fingers curled around her arms again.

"Please… please, just let us go."

Izaya pocketed the phone, rocking the chair back to balance precariously on two legs. Swivel chairs were better, he decided. He missed the sheer drama of them.

"Do you love your husband, Hanako-chan?"

Hanako jerked, as though someone somewhere had just yanked her strings. The words that came out of her mouth were more carefully honed lines. "I… he's a good man. He provides for me and Megumi."

Izaya tut-tutted softly, letting the chair land back on four legs with a quiet thud. "Now, that's not what I asked, was it?"

"He's a good husband," Hanako repeated. Izaya's brows scrunched in a frown. He swore he'd sent Shiki's men to fetch a woman, not an android. A flash of Shizuo flickered through his mind, those repeated, self-denigrating mantras and that same unfocused stare. Was this what fear really did? "It's all my fault. I'm clumsy. I make so many mistakes. He's a good husband for putting up with me. Without him, I don't know what I'd do."

"You don't strike me as a stupid woman, Hanako-chan." He sighed softly, getting up and giving her a little space. "Merely… selective. And who could blame you? It's a survival instinct, right? Just seeing what you choose to see, the safe things, and ignore the things that could pose a threat. But you have to know what your husband does. You have to know, deep down, that he hurts people. Innocent people. People who's only crime was to be a genuinely _good_ person, naïve and stupid as that may be. Genuinely good, like you, ne?"

"No… I'm not good." Hanako looked up at him. "That's why I need to go home before I cause even more trouble." Tears began to shimmer in her eyes at that whispered realization. "He's going to be so angry with me…"

"He doesn't have to be. Because you don't have to go home." As Hanako stared at him, making no moves to wipe away the tears sliding down her cheeks, he shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled wryly. "You see, your husband… broke a possession of mine. And I _really _don't like people touching my things."

Hanako sniffed, hands wringing in the hem of her sweater as she asked meekly, "…What did he break?"

"Something important. Something I really can't do without."

She looked away. "I'm sorry… if there was some way to replace it, I'd…"

"It's irreplaceable." He said softly, watching Hanako's expression flicker into a frown and deciding he was happier not knowing what she saw in his eyes at that moment. "If it's what you want," he began instead, "I could let you go. You could go back to him, and keep on ignoring what he does while other people get hurt." And maybe he didn't give a damn about other people, but he could see from her eyes that Hanako certainly did. Hanako almost looked as worried about _him _as she was about herself and her child. Che, another fool who cared more about strangers than her own neck. No wonder she and Shizu-chan got on so well… "Or you could take this opportunity with both hands."

"I…"

"Wait, let's see if I can guess." He pretended to think hard, tapping his fingers against his lips. "Your loving, devoted husband is nothing more than violent Yakuza trash. You have more debt than you can ever hope to repay in a dozen lifetimes, and I'll hazard a guess that you aren't even aware of half of them. You live in fear, day in, day out, waiting for that moment he'll finally snap. The day he'll finally kill you for using the wrong brand of tea, or leaving a smudge on the glasses when you do dishes. Am I getting anywhere close?"

"Stop…" Hanako shook her head. "You just… you don't understand."

"Is that what you want Megumi to see, hmm?" He lowered his voice so that the little girl wouldn't hear him mention her name. "Is that how you want her to grow up? You don't think he'll turn on her once he gets tired of you?"

Hanako's eyes widened. "He'd never lay a hand on our child…!"

Izaya tilted his head. "And there was a time you'd have sworn he'd never lay a hand on you, either, ne?"

She flinched back as though he'd done just that himself, arms wrapped tight around her midsection.

"I can guarantee he won't come after you." He shrugged. And he could, but he didn't think Hanako needed to hear the reasons why. The less she knew about that part, the better. "I can give you – both of you – everything you need to start over somewhere else."

"Why…?" Hanako looked up at him through shimmering eyes. "Why would you do any of this?"

"I told you. He broke something of mine, and without it…" He scowled, shaking his head. "He broke something of mine, and it's time he learned he has to pay for the things he touches, ne?"

And this was the best shortcut he could come up with.

Money was important to Nishimura, there was no doubting that. But past it all was a man who cared more about possessions, regardless of what they were. A man who got off on control, on power. Anyone could take away his money – hell, Nishimura did a good job at throwing it away himself - but someone who could infiltrate the solid castle he'd built himself, sneak out with the prize trophy…

_You took my toy away, ne, Nishimura-san? How will you like it when you figure out I've taken yours?_

Worse, taken it and freed it, instead of taken it and breaking it. Exerted more control than he could ever dream of achieving. It would drive a man like Nishimura insane. And mad people tended to take risky chances, tended to lose perspective. Someone who emasculated him this badly by ripping away his powerbase, his safe little punching bag, well… they weren't someone to be taken lightly, were they?

"Give it some thought, ne?" He turned for the door, sending Megumi a cheerful smile and wave as he went. "In the meantime, feel free to treat this place as your own. No one will harm either of you, you have my word. There should be plenty of supplies to tide you over for a few days. I'll be back then to hear your decision."

By which point, it wouldn't really matter what it was. Hanako would no longer have a home to return to.

"Your…" Hanako began, shying back as she spoke haltingly. "Your… broken thing. Can it be fixed?"

Izaya laughed softly, shutting the door securely behind him. "I don't know, Hanako-chan. But I'm trying my best."


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N : Another couple of chapters and this'll be caught up to what's been posted on the kinkmeme/Livejournal to date. Thank you all **so much** for continuing to read and review. Considering the tone and content of this fic (and the fact it's pretty far from easygoing fluff) means it not to everyone's taste, I'm grateful for every single one of you, and your comments mean a great deal to me. *hearts*  
><em>

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 146 - 160)  
><strong>_

_**Warnings:**__** several for this chapter - flashbacks/recollections of rape, implied abuse (not involving Shizuo and Izaya), and some sex (most definitely involving Shizuo and Izaya ;D). Also kinda light on the cliffhangers this time, but I don't know if that's as much a warning as it is a relief. XD  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Twenty

"It's good to see that rumours of your demise were exaggerated, Heiwajima-san."

The sharply dressed, sharply featured man standing on the landing behind him stank of yakuza, even without the two shady looking guys in equally ugly suits loitering at the bottom of the stairs. Heart still racing, a little too panicked to assess the situation calmly, Shizuo groped blindly for the nearest thing he could use as a weapon, cursing his lack of furniture. Fuck it, most normal people had a floor lamp, or some dumbass paperweight on the table by the door or something.

Granted, he could just use the _door_.

While he was scrabbling around with equal parts terror and fury, the man just watched him coolly, making no moves to approach or back off.

"I apologize for following you like this," the man said. "One of my men just happened to see you by the station and, well…" There was the faintest hint of something like a smile. "You're still something of a red flag for them, so of course we're going to notice if one of the city's most infamous men just disappears. And when he returns."

Never relenting his deathgrip on the doorframe, Shizuo tried to figure out how much time he had if he slammed the door and just _ran_, taking a dive through the living room window. What if the damn flea was right, what if he couldn't handle this shit on his own? What if he never _would_?

"And Orihara-san has been scarce too," the man went on conversationally, either oblivious or ignoring his quiet meltdown. "If he hadn't been in touch regarding a few outstanding jobs, I might have believed the rumour that said you'd both finally killed each other."

A fragment of that jammed in the spinning wheels of his panic, making him pause.

"Jobs?" Shizuo narrowed his eyes. "You the flea's yakuza buddy?"

The man chuckled, the action only serving to make him look more sketchy. "If you mean Orihara-san, then yes. Although 'buddy' might be stretching it a little. Ah, I also deal with another acquaintance of yours on occasion, Kishitani-sensei."

There was something a little surreal about a yakuza thug being so formally polite about the flea and the four-eyes. But if this guy was local, then… Well, he couldn't be here for anything good, but the likelihood he was here about anything to do with _that_…

Releasing the door, he kept a good amount of distance between them anyway. Admitting to knowing Izaya and Shinra really wasn't something that instilled confidence in a guy. "Is this 'I know all your friends, so I'm harmless'?"

"Not at all. This is another case of me thinking you're caught up in this somehow, and not being able to work out how." At Shizuo's frown, the man shook his head. "Never mind. Ah, I apologize for my rudeness. I'm Shiki, of the Awakusu-kai."

Right. Local, knows the flea, probably doesn't have any problem with guys from Ueno dropping like flies…"So what do you want?

Apparently satisfied Shizuo wasn't about to go batshit at the merest mention of Izaya's name, Shiki nodded to the guys at the bottom of the steps to give them some space. They glared warily at Shizuo, but this guy must have held some clout because they left with only a grumbled reluctance.

"I've never known what to make of the two of you." Shiki turned back to him. "As well acquainted with Orihara-san as I may be, he's still very unpredictable, and you, well…"

"Is this going anywhere?" Shizuo backed up into the apartment as Shiki leaned on the doorframe. He doubted this guy was going to jump him, and even if he tried he was _one_ guy, but it took all his nerve to half turn his back, feigning rapt interest in the old, dusty stack of unopened mail that had been on his dining table since the night Izaya came to fetch him.

"My apologies, Heiwajima-san, I'm sure you're a busy man. Are you familiar with the Wakahisa group, from Ueno?"

Glad he was looking away, Shizuo forced down the shiver creeping up his spine, resolutely sorting through the mail even though his eyes saw nothing but a hazy blur. "No. Any reason why I should?"

"Orihara-san has been expressing an interest in them recently. It's not on our orders. Don't misunderstand, we are not on good terms with the Wakahisa, and we certainly don't see eye-to-eye on our… business methods."

So the Awakusu weren't drug-dealing rapists. Good to know. Shizuo grit his teeth, the mail in his hands crumpling. "Yeah, well, none of your 'business methods' has anything to do with me."

"No," Shiki agreed, "but it does involve Orihara-san. Sometimes I wish it didn't, but he is very good at what he does. But ever since you disappeared from the city, his… focus has changed. I'll admit, just mentioning your name usually got a reaction out of him, but this is new. If it genuinely has nothing to do with you, then I suppose all I've done is wasted a little bit of your time and mine, Heiwajima-san." Shiki pushed away from the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. "But if you have any influence over him, then I'd use it to make sure he doesn't wind up in more trouble than he can handle."

"Then I guess this is wasted time, huh?" Slamming the remnants of the envelopes onto the table, Shizuo turned to glare at his visitor. "Whatever the fuck he does, it's got nothing to do with me."

Shiki nodded. "I expected as much, but I thought it was worth a try. Most of the Wakahisa are small fry, but he's been sniffing around a few of their more… notorious executives. While we don't mind anything that lessens their powerbase, it'd be inconvenient for us if they somehow got the idea he was working on our order."

With a throat that felt like sandpaper, he swallowed past the rising unease, staring at an apartment – a life – he barely recognized as he forced the words out. "Notorious, how…?"

"The Wakahisa have been resurgent lately." Shiki said after a while. "Most people put their success down to an exec by the name of Takahashi."

_Past a slap of skin on raw skin that he can't quite accept belongs to him anymore, the one fucking his mouth grunts, "Hey, you don't want a go Takahashi?"_

_"Oi, don't use our fucking names, idiot!" Another voice, from somewhere to his right. It's breathless, rhythmic, matched by a wet, sliding sound. "Sorry, boss, he's just a dumbfuck brat."_

_"Don't worry about it, he's too out of it to remember anyway, right?" A different voice, to his left. At the question, the one tearing his body open with short, jarring thrusts slows down, and he can feel hot tears spilling down his cheeks at how fucking relieved he is for just that second of respite._

_"Yeah. Gave him enough to knock his pretty little ass out for most of the night." The echo of a loud jeering slap on his 'pretty little ass' is followed by the resumption of that agonizing, sawing fucking. "Won't remember your own name, will you, sweetheart?"_

_The voice to his left sounds amused. "And I'll enjoy you after you've been warmed up a little, right Heiwajima-san?" A cold hand grips his jaw, forcing it open to the cock stretching his lips. "I usually like my boys tight and sweet, but I'll make an exception for you. You, I wanna see ripped open around my dick so that you'll feel me forever. That'll be good, right?" And he must be fading into the haze again, because from far away he hears a disgruntled, "Aww, but the fun's just getting started, Heiwajima-san!" and something hot scalds down his side, making him flinch._

_He tastes blood, smells smoke, hears a sickening sizzle of something it takes a second to register is his own skin, and-_

Shiki was still talking, but Shizuo had no idea what the older man said. It was hard enough to stay standing when all he wanted to do was curl into the darkest corner of his abandoned apartment and pretend the rest of the world ceased to exist.

"So he's bad news," Shiki said. "The kids are just the tip of it. No one can prove anything, but it's well accepted that he's using the Wakahisa's drug trade as a cover for trafficking. They know, they just let him get away with it because they reap the benefits. And Orihara-san _is_ good at playing his games, but there's a reason Takahashi's risen so fast; so's he."

"I can't help you." Shizuo shook his head, not bothering to try and hide the tremor in his voice because he didn't know _how_. Everything he had was focused on taking one breath, then another as he repeated, "It's got nothing to do with me."

"In that case, Heiwajima-san, I apologize for taking up so much of your time." Shiki nodded. In peripheral vision, Shizuo watched an assessing gaze scan his apartment, taking in the oh-so-stylish 'hasn't been lived in in weeks' look. "Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"Huh?"

"Well, it doesn't look as though you're staying here, are you?" To prove his point, the older man flicked the light switch off and on, the lampshade above Shizuo's head staying resolutely dead. "I have a car outside. You have my word that wherever we take you stays between us."

It was asking a little too much to expect him to trust a guy he barely knew, when he'd just found out the goddamn flea was _still_ lying to him.

Still… maybe Shiki's motives had little to do with Izaya's best interests, but there was a cold sort of vindication in knowing someone agreed with him that this shit needed to stop.

"Nah," he shook his head, "but thanks. I was gonna go see some friends first anyway before I headed…" Home? Tch… This was his home, and if he had one iota of brains he'd stay here. "Headed back."

"Suit yourself." Shiki shrugged easily, footsteps strolling back along the landing and away from Shizuo's door. "And, Heiwajima-san, you have my word that _this_ stays between us, too. It's not my place to dispel those rumours, after all."

He shut the door after the other man left, but it didn't matter. He wasn't seeing his old apartment, he wasn't hearing the faint hum of a television from the old guy next door. He just felt the ghost echo of Izaya's fingers entwined with his, just seeing the flea smile as he lied "Yeah. I promise."

Sliding down against the door, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Next door, the TV channels flipped to something with raucous, screeching laughter.

_Joke's on me, huh?_

It wasn't even as though he'd believed it, which made how empty he felt at the hollow victory of being _right_ all the more unsettling. Had he been dumb enough to actually _hope_ he was enough to make Izaya stop?

_Tch… of course you're not. What the hell do you expect when you haven't done anything to show him you're over it all?_

Assuming Izaya's line about wanting him back the way he was wasn't another lie – maybe it just proved how dumb he was, but he doubted it; that line was the only thing that had stayed constant throughout this whole thing, even if he had no idea anymore what Izaya _meant_ by it – then he wasn't going to stop until that happened. Until Shizuo was someone who didn't shy and cower at every touch. Until he wasn't weak.

Until he was something worth killing.

And this wasn't enough. When he was still the sort of pathetic idiot who had to ask fricking _permission_ to leave, like he was a kid wanting to walk home from school alone for the first time. When he knew a part of him almost wished Izaya had said "No", just so he didn't have to try.

This wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. And the goddamn stupid flea had enough blood on his hands thanks to Shizuo already, fighting battles that weren't even his to win. If this Shiki guy was right, if Izaya was playing games with the guy who'd set him up…

_Oh fuck, flea… if he did something like this to you, I'd… I'm not gonna be as good as you as picking up the pieces._

Izaya was only doing it because of him. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Shizuo got to his feet, staring at the gloom of his apartment. He'd gotten too damn used to the perpetual light of Izaya's place; this room felt like a cave in comparison.

It'd be safer to stay. Cut himself out of the picture, so Izaya'd have no need to carry on with this stupid, dangerous game. Go back to his life and pretend the past few weeks just never happened.

Except that wouldn't be enough, either.

No… he'd started this shit. It was only right that he take responsibility for being the one to end it.

* * *

><p>When Izaya's phone rang as he exited the lobby, leaving Hanako and Megumi as an out-of-sight, out-of-mind memory, he found himself rehearsing the things he'd say to Shizuo to soothe the feathers he'd ruffled earlier. None of those things included "I just was worried about you, Shizu-chan". It was probably too much to expect the blond to take on board when the concept of it still felt alien to him.<p>

It wasn't Shizuo. The number displayed on the screen of his 'business' phone was unfamiliar. Strolling away from the apartment building, he lifted the phone to his ear with a breezy, "Good afternoon."

"Hey…" a tremulous voice he didn't recognize began. "Is this Nakura-san?"

That didn't help him narrow the caller's identity down much. "How can I help you?"

"My name's Kei. You called my boss a few days ago, about…" The voice hesitated, then whispered, "…about Takahashi-san."

Oh. Takahashi's playmate of choice. Relaxing a little, he still had to ask, "How did you get this number, Kei-kun?"

"My boss kept bugging me, asking if Takahashi-san had talked to me about a new client. I kept saying no, but he didn't believe me. So I snooped around his office, and yours was the only number on record I didn't recognize, so…"

"Ah, I see. So what can I do for you?"

"Can we meet?" Kei blurted, words rushing together. "I don't like talking over the phone here, cause these assholes are always listening, and…" Sounding even younger than his years, he mumbled. "I'm kinda scared. So can we? Like…now?"

"Now?" Izaya sighed, thoroughly unmoved. Still, this was an unexpected opportunity; he could hardly pass it up. And he _had_ told Shizu-chan not to wait for him, and he was done here sooner than he expected. A detour probably wouldn't put much of a dent in his schedule, and for all he knew Shizuo wouldn't be back from Shinra's for hours. "All right. Where are you, Kei-kun?"

The boy rattled off an address of a bar in Ni-chome, and Izaya calculated how long he'd need to complete his other business on the way. Agreeing to meet in a couple of hours, he hung up, but continued to scroll through his phone as he headed for the station.

He had to admit, the photos of Hanako and Megumi looked much more impressive on his phone than on the digital camera where they originated. Something about the smaller screen, he decided, made it look all the more grainy and threatening. Penning a short, pithy note – finished off with a cheery emoticon just for that creepy touch – he sent the photos to Nishimura's email.

Two hours would be plenty for him to receive the mail, check that indeed, not only were his wife and child missing but by now the locks would have been changed on that claustrophobic little house in Ueno. It was alarmingly easy; once Nishimura's debts were purportedly handled by a security company he'd set up in name only as a front, convincing people it was all above board was simple. A few official looking documents was all it took. Humans were so gullible when it came to someone throwing their authority around, really…

Shiki's men had left the new keys in the apartment mailbox in the lobby. They clinked against his phone as he pocketed it, anticipating the entertainment waiting for it after he completed the short journey to Shinjuku.

He wasn't disappointed. He'd barely stepped off the train before his phone alerted him to five missed calls. The sixth call came just as he was scrolling through the repeated list of Nishimura's number.

Smiling brightly, he took a seat on a bench just outside the station, making himself comfortable.

"Nishimura-san, ne?"

"Who the fuck is this?" He had to move the phone away from his ear a little to reduce the risk of being deafened by that roar. "Who the fuck are you to take my goddamn house and my goddamn family?"

Nishimura didn't sound anything like he looked, Izaya conceded. He'd been expecting something shrill and whiny to match the dull exterior.

"I'm the man you owe a substantial amount of money, Nishimura-san. You should be more respectful in addressing me, don't you think?"

"I don't owe you any goddamn money!" Nishimura sounded out of breath. Izaya pictured him storming down that same street he and Shizuo had their little chase, with absolutely nowhere to go.

"I think you'll find you do. You might want to speak to Mochizuki-san. I bought out your debt several weeks ago."

"You're lying," Nishimura snarled. "He wouldn't do that to me, not for some… who the hell are you, anyway?"

"That's entirely irrelevant, Nishimura-san. I just want my money, ne?" Leaning back, he smiled up at the sky, noticing the way the clouds were thinning, ribbons of blue visible through the grey. He knew Nishimura didn't have this kind of money, and now there was no one else he could turn to for more. Takahashi, maybe, but if he was becoming suspicious at the way his lackeys were dropping like flies, Izaya doubted he'd go so far as to throw more money at the inconvenience.

That was fine. After all, he wasn't really interested in the money.

He heard Nishimura breathing hard and noisy at his phone. "Where the hell am I supposed find that sort of money?"

"I think you'll find that's really not my problem, Nishimura-san. But I want all of it. You have twenty four hours, or… You know, you have quite the adorable daughter in Megumi-chan. It'd be a pity if anything happened to change that, ne?"

Something in the back of his mind murmured a meek little suggestion that perhaps Shiki-san had a point about involving women and children. Izaya quietened it with the knowledge that whatever he said to achieve his ends, he had no intention of harming either of them. Honestly, Hanako would be grateful to him in the end, but if she ever looked him in the eye and dared say "thank you", well…

_Don't thank someone who couldn't care less, Hanako-chan; thank this new perspective I have on what fear does, instead._

Which, really, was down to her husband. The irony of it was quite satisfying.

"If you touch one fucking hair on her head, you goddamn monster, I'll—"

"Oh, please." Sitting up, he narrowed his eyes, the echo of that accusation – that _word_ - slithering down his spine. "We all know who the monster is in this conversation, ne, Nishimura-san. Do you _really_ think the world is ignorant enough to believe Hanako-chan is just clumsy?"

Nishimura hesitated a fraction of a second too long. "I don't know what the fuck you're—"

"Twenty-four hours, Nishimura-san. All the money, or your house will be sold as collateral. Ah, of course, there's rarely the need for a home without a family to inhabit it, ne?"

"Wait!" Nishimura's voice crackled through the line just as Izaya was about to end the call. Sighing, he pressed it back against his ear.

"No, Nishimura-san, there will be no extensions, no extenuating circumstances, no excuses. If you don't have my money, then—"

"Are they okay? Hanako and Megumi, are they… are they okay?"

Izaya blinked curiously. "Do you really expect me to believe you care, Nishimura-san? Frankly, I didn't think there'd be much point using them as a bargaining chip, considering how insignificant their value must be to you."

Although, if they _were_…

No. He was dealing with a man adept at using every trick in the book to keep the creditors at bay for just a little longer. Nishimura would lie and bend the truth without a second thought if it meant covering his own ass, and there really was no point trying to kid a kidder.

"You don't know the first damn thing about us."

"Hmm, that's what she said. Oh, don't worry Nishimura-san, you have her on a long leash, ne? I'm sure she'll defend you to her last breath. It's… sweet."

And he was sure Shizu-chan would tell him he had no idea about love – perhaps that was true, perhaps his and Shizuo's definitions would never overlap – but Izaya couldn't ever recall a Valentine's card that read "Sorry for all the abuse; I love you!" If he had…

He giggled softly, imagining Shizuo's face if that dropped through his mailbox.

"Ne, tell me something, Nishimura-san… do you think a human can truly come to love someone who causes them pain? Or would someone truly have to be a monster for something like that to happen?" Still smiling, he mulled to himself, running one finger idly through the fur on his coat just to watch the soft fibers lie one way, then the other. "Normal humans can't endure such a thing, don't you think? Ah, for a while, maybe, until their sense of right and wrong becomes so warped, so clouded by how sickeningly desperate they are for affection, for warmth, for a salve for the loneliness… for _love_, ne? Until one day they realize what they called love was just an ugly little gremlin behind the drapes, pulling levers. Smoke and mirrors. But to rebuild what they once thought was real, they can only tear down and destroy what once was. And those things that cause pain never survive the fall-out, Nishimura-san. Sometimes, it's better for those things to simply remove themselves from the equation, ne? If whatever you call 'love' was real in the first place and not merely a panacea for selfish human desires."

Nishimura was silent. Izaya wondered if he'd hung up, bored. He listened anyway, plucking at imaginary fluff from his coat, and watching the strangers hurry by.

_Love. What a ridiculous, embarrassing, soul-destroying thing it was… _

"I get you your money and you'll let them go?" Nishimura asked, startling him from his reverie.

"That's the idea, ne?" he lied. Well, he'd let them go, but not back to this disgusting excuse for a human. He had a feeling it was just as well that he wouldn't accept any payment besides blood; it would be far more effort than he cared to expend convincing someone as utterly brainwashed as Hanako not to go back to his man, and Izaya really wasn't _that_ invested in their welfare. "Call when you have my money, Nishimura-san. I'll consider any other contact as a blatant disregard for instruction, and a severe waste of my time."

"Are you with those Ikebukuro bastards?" The question, apropos of nothing, made him laugh loud enough for some of those self-same strangers to stare and step around him, as though madness was contagious.

"I'm not with anyone. I work alone. And let me tell you one thing, I _really_ don't like other people taking credit for my work, ne?" He smiled grimly before hanging up. "We'll talk soon, Nishimura-san."

Slipping the phone back in his pocket, he remained sitting serenely on the bench for a few minutes, just to keep the passers-by on their toes. Sometimes, humans' sheer lack of a radar for danger puzzled him; after all, other animals did it. Shoals of fish did it – though he'd be happy enough _never_ seeing those – primates and birds called to each other from treetops to warn of danger.

And yet, like none of these strangers called him out on his odd, not-part-of-the-herd behaviour, Nishimura didn't ask once whether he had something to do with Hayashi and Satou's deaths. Two people dead, acquaintances at least close enough to him to share hobbies and interests like abducting, drugging and raping an innocent man, and Nishimura didn't spare them a thought. As long as his dirty laundry remained shoved under the bed, he was all right.

_Humans are so selfish, Shizu-chan. So happy to ignore the world as long as their world is fine. And you wonder why I call you a monster…_

Sighing, he stretched as he got up. He just wanted to go home. If Ni-chome wasn't so close, if Kei might not be his best direct line to the enigmatic Takahashi…

_Pining like a school girl. You do realize how ridiculous you are right now, don't you?_

Irritation steeling his resolve, he strode the short distance to the bar. At least Kei had chosen a discreet place, tastefully furnished and decorated. Fairly high-end taste for a rentboy.

It was a little difficult to believe the boy sitting at the back booth was really fourteen, younger than wide-eyed-and-hopeless Mikado-kun, and… well, hopeless Masaomi-kun. Oh, physically he might very well be – slight and skinny in his too-baggy clothes, with awkwardly gangly limbs like a colt that hadn't quite found its feet – but his eyes looked ancient.

Obviously the staff knew him, or didn't believe his age either, but Kei only cradled a half-drunk soda in a nervous grasp as Izaya slid into the booth.

"Kei-kun?"

Twisting the glass back and forth anxiously, the boy nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for agreeing to meet."

"My pleasure." He tilted his head as a shadow crossed the boy's eyes. _Not that kind of pleasure, Kei-kun…_"So, what was so important that you couldn't discuss it over the phone."

"Did… did Takahashi-san tell you about me?"

Izaya shook his head, resisting the urge to reach out to still the boy's hands. Instead, he rested his own on the tabletop, doing his best to look friendly. He was usually good with kids, though not many of them had been a fourteen year old prostitute with empty eyes. "No, I heard about your, ah… establishment through another friend. I don't really know Takahashi, I just know _of_ him. I was just a little curious as to why he made a point of designating you his favourite."

The way Kei shivered, that apparently wasn't a compliment.

"But I still don't see what you need with me. I've already decided not to use any of the services your shop offers."

The boy shrugged. "Just wanted to meet you, that's all. Not many people ask for me anymore, he's scared all my old clients off." Those weary eyes scrutinized him. "You got some money, right? You look like you're doing okay."

Izaya laughed. "Is that part of your repertoire of skills, Kei-kun? Assess a man's bank balance by the way he dresses? Appearances can be deceptive, you know."

"I know that." The boy huffed, pouting in a way that looked every bit his fourteen years. "It's not just that. The way you talk, too. You're smart, right? And smart people always have money."

Well, it wasn't as though he could refute either accusation. Smiling, he watched the boy relax a little. "You must be smart too, Kei-kun, if you caught Takahashi-san's eye, ne?"

"Buy me instead." Kei looked up abruptly. "You got money, you're interested, the shop'll be okay with it as long as I'm making more money."

Interesting.

"Okay, hold on a second…" He held up his hands. "Assuming I'm in the least bit tempted by your offer, assuming Takahashi wouldn't just pay more than I could afford to match… what makes you think I'd treat you any better than he does?"

Kei looked away, and said quietly, "'Cos anyone would."

Izaya sighed. "What about your old clients, wouldn't one of them help you out?"

"No one has his kind of money." Kei shook his head.

"Or his kind of power, ne?" Izaya pointed out, voice gentle. "I don't think many people would dare steal you away from him."

Kei nodded, staring dejectedly at his soda. He'd stopped wringing his fingers around it, but the straw still swayed lightly. "So when I heard someone else was interested, I thought… hoped, maybe…"

The kid was good, Izaya had to hand it to him. The doe-eyes that peered up at him were powerful in their own right. But whether Kei saw him as a bigger meal ticket, or just a way out, there was still far too much to shake out of this arrangement first.

Smiling sympathetically, letting just a hint of a concerned frown edge into his expression, he leaned a little closer. "He… doesn't treat you well, Kei-kun?"

"He just…" Kei shook his head, words trailing off, something cold and hard deadening his gaze. "Last time, he paid up for the night and took me to this hotel. Said it was so he could treat me for once to make up for all the shit." The boy snorted. "Told the lady at the reception desk I was his kid brother so's she wouldn't look at us weird for sharing the room. We get there and he's got like… a half dozen business guys he's working with waiting for us. Waiting for me. And he's all 'yeah, do whatever you want with him'…"

"So you were… an incentive to grease the wheels, so to speak?" Izaya mulled. "He got something out of the business deal thanks to you, ne?"

"I guess." Kei looked up. "You don't look like yakuza, but you gotta be if you know about Takahashi-san, right?"

Wryly remembering saying something similar to the others, Izaya shrugged. "I'm… freelance."

Kei squinted at him. "But you do the same shit as them, right? Drugs and trafficking and shit?"

"Some of my work overlaps, yes."

"So see, you ain't just buying me, Nakura-san. I've been hanging around Takahashi for over a year, I know all these guys he works with. I've heard them talking about work shit when they think I'm asleep or… or something."

Over a year. "You were thirteen when this started?"

The disgust must have shown on his face, because Kei hunched defensively into himself as he nodded. "Not like you're any better that those fuckers, if you were sniffing around our shop."

"I'm _nothing_ like them…!" Kei looked up, surprised at Izaya's ill-judged outburst. Sitting back, he forced himself to shrug casually. "I was misled about what sort of shop it was. Then I heard Takahashi had a boy there, got curious… I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

"S'okay…" Kei said, not looking okay at all. "I just thought, y'know…"

He could afford it. A lot of Takahashi's play money seemed to come from cleverly siphoned off Wakahisa funds. He'd noticed that much while trying to follow the horrific paper trail mess of Nishimura's dealings. For all he knew, it was possible Nishimura was the link in that chain, the hapless, bad with money idiot Takahashi could blame for all that missing cash, which would also go a way to explaining why he wasn't bailing Nishimura out this time.

And he wanted that information, that was for sure. A way in with Takahashi's business dealings would help him work out the best angle to approach.

But he'd reached his limit with picking up strays. The one he had was stressful enough.

"Why would you be so eager to sell out the man who's paid for your lifestyle for over a year?"

"What fucking lifestyle?" The boy glared. "The shop takes most of it. He doesn't even buy me shit. I wanted a new mp3 player and he said I had to…" Kei looked away, fingers clenching around the glass. "Wasn't worth it…"

"You have no guarantee you're better off with me."

"Yeah…" Kei looked up at him, eyes empty as he tugged down the neck of his shirt to reveal a bony chest and an assortment of bruises and what looked like cigarette burns in various states of healing. "I do."

It wasn't a surprise. Anyone who could have orchestrated what happened to Shizuo wouldn't think twice about kicking around a whore.

Kei slunk back into his seat as Izaya stood. Reaching for his wallet, he withdrew a handful of bills, tucking them under the boy's glass. "Enough for an mp3 player, ne? But as a gesture of goodwill, if you really want me to think about this I'm going to want something in return."

"But you just said—"

"Information." Izaya tapped an index finger to his lips. "That'll buy you a good mp3 player. One with a decent voice recorder. When you do meet Takahashi next?"

"Tomorrow."

"Then you'll have that recorder with you, ne?"

Kei scowled. "How the hell am I supposed to do that? He doesn't…" His gaze dropped, voice terribly young. "He doesn't let me wear clothes when I'm with him."

"You're a smart kid, I'm sure you'll think of something if you want this badly enough." Izaya turned to leave, waving casually over one shoulder before sliding his hands into his pockets. "You still have my number, right? Call me when you have something you think I'll be interested in, and we'll discuss this again then."

"Hey, Nakura-san…?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

Shaking his head, Izaya smiled wryly to himself as he left the bar. Really, this wasn't a nice side-effect at all, though he supposed it was to be expected; try to fix one waif or stray, and others were sure to gravitate towards you. No helping it, even if something that ran even deeper than his blood rebelled against it on principle.

_Ah, but you'd be happy, ne? You'd hate benefiting from something by yourself._

He took his time walking home, but the apartment was still empty when he finally arrived. A part of him was relieved; there was always something unpleasant at the thought of sullying his home environment with the grime of his encounters with these people and not even a scalding hot shower cleaned it off entirely.

Afterwards, he settled on aimless wandering for lack of any better ideas. He could have looked up Kei's background – and the boy's real name wouldn't hurt – or go over Nishimura's finances one last time in case the bastard actually did have something squirreled away that Izaya had somehow overlooked, but he couldn't concentrate.

There was an untouched cigarette sitting on the edge of the plate-cum-ashtray. He imagined Shizuo abandoning it there when something else snagged his attention and just forgetting to go back. Admitting faint surprise at how easily the blond had cut back on the polluting sticks, he picked it up, balancing it between his fingers and admiring the way it looked, much the way a newly-engaged woman would flaunt a ring.

Shizuo hadn't left a lighter. He had to use the kitchen to set the cigarette alight, just to watch the way the smoke curled, inhale the acrid scent.

Rings never went up in smoke, though, he mused, placing the cigarette between his lips just to see how it felt. Unless they were made of insubstantial things, or made of delusion and control. And he really tried to picture the Nishimura's to go along with that thought, but…

Che. Stubbing out the cigarette viciously, he opened a window to rid himself of the smell.

He'd been steeling himself to do some real work, when the rattling at the front door consumed his attention. A purposeful sound, arrogant and demanding, as though the perpetrator had every right to be here. It took some effort not to just stand and stare as Shizuo walked in. Pretending he'd been mid-stride towards his desk all along, Izaya didn't even glance the blond's way.

"Did you have good time, Shizu-chan?"

"Not especially." He heard the shrug in Shizuo's voice, along with an undercurrent of something he couldn't define, but made him look up anyway. Equidistant between him and the door – ah, when wasn't he? – Shizuo stared at him, eyes narrowed, tension shimmering through his body. "C'mere."

There was no denying that tone made a shiver bloom through his blood, but he couldn't tell yet whether the sensation was pleasant. Honestly, the way Shizu-chan was looking at him…

_Kiss me or kill me?_

He went anyway, curiosity getting the better of him.

It was like walking closer to a static field; the nearer he stepped, the more something in Shizuo's eyes snapped and crackled over his skin. _Dangerous_, it screamed, in that instinctive, predatory way all monsters understood and humans ignored. _Run._

But he didn't, even though it seemed like a fine idea when fists gripped the front of his shirt, body all but flying weightless before it was slammed back against the closest wall.

"You said it was done."

"It is," he lied, holding Shizuo's gaze as steadily as he could. "Of course, there are always loose ends to tie up."

And whoever had been talking, he was of a mind to wind one of those loose ends around their throats and pull tight.

"Loose ends." Shizuo repeated, voice low. "But I'm your biggest one, right? I'm the reason this shit just won't stop."

"What?" He tilted his head, sniffing surreptitiously at the warm breath licking against his jaw. Shizu-chan didn't _seem_ drunk, but he wasn't making much more sense than an inebriated hobo either. It just went to prove, he decided, that it was far too soon to let the blond out of his sight, if he came back with left-field irrational theories like this. "Shizu-chan…" He tried to relax in that shaky grip, shrugging nonchalantly. "You really shouldn't—"

"Tch."

The noise Shizuo made as he leaned closer made Izaya think of the kind of sound someone might make if they were careening headfirst towards a sheer cliff. It didn't sound happy; it sounded resigned, desperate in all the wrong ways. But it was hard to remember what those ways were when the blond's lips touched his, warm, and soft, and radiating with tension.

He tried opening his mouth to say something – he had no idea what; he didn't think he'd actually _mean_ "Don't push yourself, Shizu-chan," even if that's what he should have said – but Shizuo chose that moment to steel himself, tongue sliding between Izaya's lips, and the last thing on his mind was making the blond _stop_.

What the hell _happened_ today? While he couldn't quite bring himself to complain, not with the warm, solid strength of Shizuo's body keeping him pressed into the wall, and the delicious mixed signals of a tongue that was as shy as it was aggressive dancing against his own, but…

Shizuo wasn't doing this for him. This wasn't some astounding change of heart where he'd suddenly seen the blinding light of just how much he shattered everything Izaya'd ever thought was right, and real, and rational in his world. This wasn't even for _them._

_I'm the reason this shit won't stop._

So why couldn't he stop? If he was the only one of them still thinking clearly…

Well, okay, _that_ might very well be the problem. When Shizuo's hands slid from their near-painful grip on his upper arms to catch his wrists, pinning them back against the wall as one strong thigh insinuated itself between Izaya's legs, there wasn't a whole lot of thinking going on. Arching up almost on tip-toe, he rocked against that pressure, snatching his arms free to wrap them around Shizuo's head instead, keeping him locked in a kiss he couldn't remember anymore whether they should be sharing in the first place.

All things considered, 'shouldn't' was a little moot…

Growling into the kiss at the loss Izaya's captive wrists, Shizuo's hands dropped to his hips instead, half-curling, half-lifting him, making it easier for Izaya to rub against him, one knee raised for closer contact. Moan muffled by the blond's lips, he tangled his fingers tighter in Shizuo's hair as the other man pushed up under him, nowhere near as mortifyingly hard as Izaya felt, but…

_Maybe you do want this, just a little bit, Shizu-chan…?_

Or maybe not, as abruptly as Shizuo stilled, a slow shudder working its way down his spine. If it was Izaya, he'd have thought he'd just come in his pants like an over-eager schoolboy, but Shizu-chan obviously had more self control than that. The pause, the tension… something else was going on here, and Izaya was still too dazed from the kiss to figure out what.

Breaking the kiss, Shizuo dropped his forehead against Izaya's, breathing hard. Fingers lacing at the nape of his neck, Izaya watched troubled brown eyes frown back at him before they squeezed shut briefly as Shizuo let go, taking a step back.

Izaya released a breath, bracing himself for the onslaught of misplaced guilt, but he really should have known better. Since when did Shizu-chan ever make this sort of thing easy for him to predict?

"Let's go." Shizuo gripped his wrist, gaze averted as he tugged Izaya away from the wall.

"What are you doing?" He managed, stumbling a little from the force by which Shizuo yanked him towards the bedroom, eyes going wide at the way the blond began unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand.

"What does it look like?" The reply was part gruff indifference, part blind terror. "We're gonna go fuck."

* * *

><p>Izaya dug his heels in so hard at that word, it was like pulling the reins of a stubborn mule.<p>

"Didn't you hear me, flea?" Swallowing past the dryness in his throat, he forced himself to glance back with a cocky smile he didn't feel, tugging hard until Izaya stumbled against him, body still on a high from the kiss for reasons far too fucking scary to dwell on. "You're not gonna tell me you don't want to."

He shivered as Izaya's hands skimmed the open front of his shirt, clenching in the fabric, never quite touching his skin but warm enough, close enough that something short-circuited in Shizuo's head. Sighing a soft, puzzled sound, the flea lifted his head, frowned a little. Deciding this shit had been so much easier when Izaya couldn't talk, couldn't look at him with those suspicious eyes, couldn't ask dumbass questions, he threaded both hands into soft dark hair, leaning down to shut Izaya up the only way he knew how.

He didn't want questions. Didn't want 'what are you doing?'s or 'are you sure?'s, because he knew damn well he was had no answer for either apart from 'I don't know', and Izaya wouldn't accept that half-assed lie as good enough.

But damn it, the flea would have to accept _this_ as good enough, because otherwise Shizuo had no fucking ideas left.

Izaya didn't ask. Shizuo figured it was more of a test than any acquiescence on the flea's part, but he didn't care. It got him one step closer to what he wanted, even if it was hard to suppress the way his body rebelled at the shush of fabric on skin when Izaya pushed his shirt from his shoulders. It almost tripped him up, clumsily as he backed up towards the bed until the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. Izaya just went with him, not even breaking the kiss as he straddled Shizuo's lap, warm, soft fingers tracing circles over his collar bones, his shoulders, and down his spine. Teasing fingertips just skimmed the waist of his pants before raking back up, dragging light sensation in their wake.

Careful and undemanding as it was, his muscles still felt like concrete under Izaya's touch, his body's resolute "hell no!" reply to the wisdom of this plan.

Too bad. He wasn't backing out now. This needed to be done, and he'd shirked his responsibilities long enough.

He didn't even notice the kiss had ended until Izaya's voice brushed velvet against his lips, fingers curving against the side of his neck.

"Why?"

Shizuo swallowed. Of course the damn flea would skip the niceties and go straight for the jugular. "Why not?"

Izaya laughed softly, lowering his head to brush kisses along the tendons of Shizuo's shoulder. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"D'you want me to answer yours?"

Leaning back, Izaya let his fingertips trail down Shizuo's chest as he reached for his hands. He smiled a little at the way Shizuo had to school himself not to pull away, a tiny frown tugging his brows as he curved Shizuo's hands into the hem of his own shirt. "No."

Another goddamn test, huh? Fine…

He made himself move slow, to pay attention to what he was doing. Last time had been too much of a blur, too much about him trying to look everywhere _but_ at the smooth expanse of pale skin as he peeled Izaya's shirt up. He'd touched that, he thought, gaze dragging up Izaya's chest as soft black gave way to even softer cream. If he'd done it once, he could do it again.

At least he thought so, until he tugged the garment over Izaya's head, and the flea, all wiry muscle and rumpled hair, _shivered_, a quiet moan catching in the back of his throat, and for a second all his reasons for this dissolved. For that handful of racing heartbeats, there was just this beautiful, too fucking dangerous to handle creature on his lap, and the sense that he was looking at something he'd never been meant to see.

Then Izaya's hands were in his hair as he leaned closer with a barely-there "Please…", and a rush of panic was tempered by the heat of the flea's chest pressed against his own, the pulse pounding beneath that delicate skin almost as erratic and quick as Shizuo's. Almost.

Whatever else he remembered, he didn't remember _this_. Didn't remember a warm, lithe body wrapped around his, shivering with every shift of skin against skin. Kinda made him wonder again which one of them was most terrified, and whether this was just one more in a long line of stupid mistakes.

Izaya damn near _purred_ when Shizuo ran tentative hands along the planes of his back, feeling the deceptive strength ripple beneath his touch. Closing his eyes, he pictured the flea bouncing between buildings, footsteps so light it looked as though he was waking on air.

He never _had_ stared at Izaya's ass during their chases, but a part of him sort of wished he had. Would things have been _different_, if he had?

_Tch… pointless thinking about that now._

Especially when said ass kept grinding onto his lap, doing its best to remind his body of the way this _should_ feel. The way it could feel, if he just saw it through.

_You have to. He's not gonna pay attention to anything you_ say_, so…_

Izaya made a startled sound when Shizuo leant back, hands flailing to brace himself above him.

"Shizu-chan—"

"No." He shook his head. "It's got to be this way."

Izaya looked down at him, though the flea did a decent job of masking the scepticism. Shrugging a little too casually, he braced his hands either side of Shizuo's shoulders, shifting his hips so that he was no longer straddling his thighs, but nestling between them. He heard Izaya's breath catch as he settled against the juncture of Shizuo's legs, erection hot and straining beneath the worn-soft material of his pants.

He felt himself twitch a little in shy response, heat stirring low in his gut, body arching up of it's own accord because it caught on faster than he did that yeah, this was probably how it was _supposed_ to feel. There was meant to be something mindless in his blood, something reaction on nothing but pure instinct. Something no amount of memory could ever quite touch.

"Are you sure?" Izaya asked, and the surge of fury that coursed through him at the fact the damn flea had to ask him something like that in the first place made him lean up, nodding into a desperate kiss instead of putting the uncertainty into words.

_Not enough…_

The gasp hitching against the kiss as he brought trembling fingers to the belt of Izaya's jeans could have been either of them, he was too pre-occupied to notice. Everything in his awareness zeroed in on how close his hands were to that pounding heat, and how fucking hard it was to tear away the flimsy fabric barriers keeping him safe.

_Safe from what? You know he's not gonna hurt you, so what the hell are you so afraid of…? _

"Do it," he breathed against the flea's mouth, biting down on plush lips to hide how badly his voice shook as he unbuckled Izaya's belt. "Wanna feel you…"

And maybe Izaya didn't believe him, but he did. Past the fear, past the awkwardness, past the sheer irrationality of _Izaya_ doing this to him, last time had rewired something in his head, mapped out something new and different. Something that was here and now. Something that was just about them.

He kissed the flea harder to muffle the sound of his belt clinking, the hum of his zipper running down over his cock, drowning out the sound in his head of fabric ripping by focusing on the way his own hands moved over Izaya. Fingers hooking in the flea's belt loops, he felt Izaya jerk against him in a reflexive thrust as he gripped the material and pushed it down.

"Shizuo…" Izaya panted against his lips, and the surprise of the flea dropping that stupid nickname distracted him long enough for deft fingers to do the same to his own pants.

"Shit…" Despite himself, his hands clenched hard on Izaya's narrow, sharp hips at that first hot, wet slide of Izaya's cock alongside his own. The flea couldn't stay still regardless, hips snapping against him in short, jerky little movements, as though he was trying and failing spectacularly. He only figured out that Izaya was squirming free of his pants when one bare knee came up to shove the tangle of Shizuo's jeans down enough to let him free himself.

One hand raking down his side, Izaya wound the other into Shizuo's hair, kissing him in between hungry little moans while his hips settled into a languid rhythm. Shizuo tried to convince his hands to move, but either they were done listening to him or they kinda liked it where they were, fingers barely feeling the flex of the flea's ass every time he rocked into the cradle of Shizuo's thighs, pressing him harder into the bed.

He'd thought he'd be okay. Izaya was a lightweight bastard, after all; it wouldn't be too hard to shove him off if he decided he'd had too much. But as slight as Izaya might have been, the body covering his, trapping him between squirming heat and the muted squeak of the mattress felt as unyielding, as inescapable as steel. And maybe what they were doing right now wasn't all that different to what they'd done last time, but fuck if Izaya hadn't felt this big and hard in his hands.

It would _hurt_. Fear clawed up his spine as his muscles tensed at the memory, feeling the echo of that ripping pain even when he clenched around nothing. It would hurt, and he'd remember, and if Izaya didn't notice, if he didn't stop—

If Shizuo came _anyway_, then…

"_You're enjoying yourself, right Heiwajima-san?"_

He didn't feel Izaya let him go, but the flea must have pulled back the second he began struggling against that embrace, shoving himself away, just trying to breathe. The room coalesced back into some kind of focus when he could put a little distance between himself and that heat, kneeling on the farthest edge of the bed, fingers tearing into Izaya's sheets.

_No… I didn't. I _didn't.

Izaya stayed silent, stayed out of reach. When Shizuo finally looked up, he was sitting seiza on the rumpled sheets, hands on his thighs, and something about it would've been funny if Shizuo wasn't so fucking sad.

"I don't…" …_know what I'm saying. Or doing. Or feeling. _

In slow increments, Izaya edged closer. The flea'd probably known all along he couldn't go through with it. A bitter loathing of his own fricking uselessness seethed in his veins; who the fuck did he think he was kidding? Izaya'd read him like a book from the second he walked in the door. Izaya'd gone along with this knowing all the while Shizuo'd just turn tail and run.

He sucked in a surprised breath when fingertips brushed his cheek, combing up into his hair. Izaya went slow, waiting for him to relax before doing it again. Same as before. Same as it always was.

_Same fucking thing I just don't deserve from you…_

"It's okay, Shizu-chan…"

"No…" He shook his head, dislodging the careful, gentle brush of Izaya's fingers through his hair. "It's not. I wanted…. I _thought_…"

"Ah, well then there's your elementary error, ne?" Izaya watched him, head canted. "This isn't about thinking, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo looked away. "Sorry…"

"No," Izaya said, sharply enough that he couldn't help glancing up, head still ducked at the intensity in those rust coloured eyes until he realized it wasn't aimed at him. "Apologize to me for _this_, and I will have to kill you, whether you're worth it or not. This isn't your fault. This was _never_ your fault."

Yeah, except for all the ways it was. Shizuo just half-nodded noncommittally, grateful when Izaya didn't call him on that particular bullshit. Nothing much about this whole mess stunned him _more_ than the fact the flea actually knew when to shut up.

After a while, he shoved himself up to a sitting position, carding a hand through hair left rumpled and messy from the flea's hands. A shiver of something that wasn't quite trepidation flitted down his spine at the thought.

"I… I did wanna do this, y'know."

Izaya watched him for a long moment. "Do you still want to?"

Yes. No. Fuck it, he didn't even know if he _could_.

"If you do," Izaya went on, "we do it my way. There's something I want to show you, if you trust me." A wry smile tugging his lips, the flea added the caveat "With this, anyway."

What the fuck was with the flea's knack of asking questions Shizuo didn't want to answer?

Not trusting his voice to bite back all the things crashing through his head, he just nodded. Because yeah, with _this_… shit, he still felt like a bastard for even thinking Izaya wouldn't notice if he had a fricking meltdown. Had he forgotten who he was dealing with? Izaya noticed _everything_, it was the flea's default state.

"Okay." Izaya nodded, half to himself as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed, rooting around in the drawer of some arty-looking nightstand that was mostly glass. The one in Shizuo's room was sturdier, which he appreciated. Putting expensive, fragile shit anywhere near him…

Izaya glanced back in surprise when Shizuo couldn't help reaching out, fingertips ghosting down the flea's spine. Climbing back onto the bed, Izaya twisted sinuously under his touch, a sly, smirky cat adjusting its human's petting to all its favourite places. Shizuo tried to mind, and decided there wasn't much point.

"Lie down." There was a tremor in the dark, hushed instruction, an edge that made it as much of a plea as a command. It took a couple of attempts to make his body comply, and Izaya wasn't exactly helping when he returned to his previous position, kneeling between Shizuo's spread legs.

Embarrassed at the silence when all Izaya did was _look_ at him, he fought the urge to draw his knees up, looking away with a gruff snort instead. "You just gonna stare at me?"

"Maybe." Izaya smiled. "It's a nice view, ne?"

"Idiot flea…"

"Well, it is." He flinched a little when warm hands slid up the inside of his thighs, sparks of heat and electricity singing from that touch. He hazarded a glance at Izaya when he made himself relax, embarrassed all over again at the look on the flea's face. "Thank you."

"Tch…" He started to look away, before that expression morphed into something wicked as Izaya licked his lips. "Wait, what're you…?"

Izaya looked up at him, eyes glinting with 'really, Shizu-chan?', before he lowered his head, tongue darting a lick across the head of his half-hard cock, and all the blood in Shizuo's body made a beeline to that point as Izaya did it again, this time sealing his lips around the tip and sucking lightly.

"Fuck…!" Head falling back against the pillow, his hands clenched at the sheets. The only other thing to hang onto was Izaya's hair, and hearing the sheets rip past the rush of his heartbeat, he didn't think that was a good idea. Izaya just laughed, warmth rippling around his cock as his lips slid lower, and for a moment he thought this was Izaya's tactic – erase _everything_ he'd known before and replace it with him. Break down and shatter everything he'd felt before and rebuild it to his specifications.

And for that moment, when Izaya's lips tightened, tongue sweeping wetly around him, Shizuo couldn't think of a single reason why that was a _bad_ thing.

One hand braced on his thigh, Izaya must have been jerking himself off with the other. Whatever the hell he was doing, Shizuo didn't care; it made soft grunts and moans vibrate in the flea's throat every time he slid deep enough to feel Izaya swallow convulsively around him, every time his body jerked as though a million invisible threads connected every nerve with the flea's mouth.

"Better, ne…?" Izaya's breath caressed him as surely as his tongue when the flea drew back, the tip of his tongue tracking along the underside of Shizuo's cock, root to tip. Dazed, and not particularly pleased Izaya'd fricking _stopped_, Shizuo looked up blearily.

"What is?"

"This." A cool, slick hand stroked him, and for the first time he realized how hard he was. For all they done, that was about as turned on as he'd been since… as he'd been in a long time. Still stroking him, Izaya stalked higher up on the bed, until pale thighs bracketed his own, the flea's erection jutting out shamelessly, flushed dark, a clear trickle of moisture already beading at the tip. "For both of us, right?"

Maybe he was pretty far gone, but even an idiot like him got the message when Izaya pushed back, rubbing the head of Shizuo's cock along the crease of his ass, the slickness of feverish skin betraying exactly what he'd been doing to incite all those fricking noises. Shizuo swallowed hard, cock twitching in the flea's grasp as images of Izaya fucking himself on those long, slender fingers flashed through his head.

"I'll let you watch next time." He heard Izaya laugh, before it faded into a soft moan of his name as that warm body opened up around him, hotter and tighter than anything he'd ever known before.

"Shit… flea, wait…" He tried sitting up, but that only drove more of him into Izaya, the flea's body shuddering to accommodate him as he worked his hips down, inch by inch, breath by breath. Gritting his teeth against the sensation, he shook his head. "Don't—"

"It's fine…" Izaya breathed, eyes fluttering closed. "Doesn't hurt. You're not hurting me. See?" To underline his words, he shifted his hips from side to side, lifting them slightly before clamping down hard as he slid back down. "Feels good, Shizu-chan. You feel so good…"

And maybe he did, because Izaya's erection hadn't flagged so much as an inch. The bead of precome had turned into a shimmery thread of moisture, dripping sticky tracks onto Shizuo's stomach.

"Fl—" His fingers dug into those skinny hips as they rose and fell again. "Izaya…"

"Is it good?" Sticky hands curled against his chest, changing the angle as Izaya flexed his ass, squeezing until Shizuo almost slid out, driving him back in harder and faster than before. "Tell me it's good, Shizuo…"

"Fuck, Izaya…" he bit out, breathing hard, the sheet under him clinging and tangling on sweatdamp skin. "You can't…"

"I can." Izaya reached for his hand, banding Shizuo's pleasure-numbed fingers around his cock, overlapping them with his own as he started to stroke. "Feel? That's what you're doing to me. Because I want you. Because you feel so good inside me. So tell me, Shizu-chan…" The flea's voice washed over him, hungry and helpless all at once. "Tell me you want it too…"

"Shit…"

He did. Wanted it so damn much even he could tell it was _too_ much, too dangerous.

And he'd never wanted to hold onto anything as tight as he did right then. Never felt so close to that elusive, impossible moment when he could, and it wouldn't _hurt_.

Izaya clenched tight around him as Shizuo pushed himself up, free arm wrapping around pale, shuddering shoulders and just hanging on. Still stroking, their knuckles dragging against their abdomens with every shift of their hands, Izaya tangled his fingers in Shizuo's hair, holding him close while the world turned into a blurry, distant haze. At least this way, wrapped up so tight in the flea's arms, he couldn't hear quite how badly his voice cracked as he nodded against Izaya's chest.

"Yeah… want it too…"

Izaya tilted his head up at that, a dark, searching gaze boring into him just shy of long enough to make him wish he hadn't said something so dumb. Then Izaya was kissing him, drinking him in between murmurs of his name, kissing him through the tears, through the humiliation, through the shudders that wracked his body when it couldn't keep up with that combination of too-tight and too-hot anymore.

One day, maybe, something as stupidly simple as coming wouldn't leave him this much of a wreck. One day, maybe, he wouldn't chase the thrumming pleasure away with guilt or shame, or the thought that he was a selfish fuck for never letting Izaya finish first. Face still pressed to the thump of that well-hidden heart, he kept matching Izaya's strokes until the flea bucked against him, clamping ruthlessly around him one last time before hot spurts of moisture streamed between their bodies.

Still buried deep and with no real desire not to be, he slumped back against the bed, taking a boneless, sated flea with him. Izaya curled against his chest, content, like they weren't half glued together, damp and sticky. Like there wasn't a million mile wide divide between everything they'd been, and whatever the hell this was now.

_Tch… I know one thing it's not gonna be._

With a shaky hand, he brushed a damp lock of dark hair from Izaya's eyes. "Please. Stop."

Izaya sighed. "I wasn't lying about those loose ends, you know. I can't just drop it all now." He looked up. "And to be honest, Shizu-chan, I don't understand why you want me to."

Sometimes he didn't either. He just kept seeing this shit go wrong, kept seeing that bastard hurting Izaya. Kept seeing the flea turn into even more of a stranger than he was now, turn into someone who'd always resent him for driving him to these lengths. Someone who'd always know Shizuo balked on the shit he should have dealt with himself, sending someone else to clean up the mess.

"I know you don't. So maybe this is where you trust me, huh?"

Maybe Izaya nodded before he tucked his head against Shizuo's shoulder. Maybe he made a soft sound of put-upon resignation. But Shizuo didn't miss the way his gaze slid away as he said, "Fine. This time, it's over."


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N : Apologies for the slow updates here *bows* I'll try and get you all caught up to the meme over the next couple of days. In the meantime, thank you as always for reading and reviewing *hearts* and to the couple of you who asked about Namie... *laughs* Originally when I started this (waaay back in June of last year) I had no idea whether Izaya's office and Izaya's apartment were the same place. So erring on the side of caution (and figuring Izaya probably wouldn't take Shizuo back to his place if other people - be it Namie or other clients etc. - were going to be in and out all the time), I wrote this as though they were two different places, hence Namie's absence. Between anni-fiesta's translations and stuff from the guidebook, I think they _are_ the same place, but it seemed weird to change this halfway through to reflect that. Hope that helps! :3  
><em>

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 161 - 174)**_

_**Warnings:**__** Some sex, flashbacks/references to rape, implied domestic abuse, and suicidal themes (the latter two not involving Shizuo and Izaya)  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Twenty One

The only thing that dragged him from a blissfully dreamless sleep was the fact he couldn't feel his arms. That, and his pillow was too hot and too hard, rising and falling softly beneath his cheek. Muffling a grunt against it to try and make it stay still, the pillow merely shivered as he flexed his arms around it, trying to regain the feeling in his hands. Turning his face into it, he opened bleary eyes, blinking rapidly when an expanse of skin that looked a hell of a lot like the flea's chest came into focus.

And there was something very fucking wrong in _knowing_ it was the flea's chest. Knowing it was the flea's fingers combing through his hair, tugging playfully.

Breathing "…Shit," under his breath, he tried to unwind his nearly numb hands from their place tucked warm beneath Izaya's back. Izaya squirmed a little in his arms, and when Shizuo looked up, just a little fucking mortified, there was undisguised amusement in those mahogany eyes.

"Well, good morning to you too, Shizu-chan."

"Uh…" Self-conscious, he drew back to the other side of the bed. "Sorry."

"You should be." Izaya agreed, watching him with that catlike smile. "Shizu-chan's heavy. And I think you might have drooled on me."

"Tch…" Feeling the flush heat his face, Shizuo looked away. "Then you shoulda shoved me off sooner, huh?"

Izaya laughed. "Why would I do something like that? It's worth it to see Shizu-chan's sleeping face again."

"Shut up."

"Heh… Shizu-chan's a snuggler. You'd never think so to look at you."

"Fuck it, I said shut up."

"I'll have to buy you a teddy bear."

"You'll have to find yourself a good fucking dentist after I punch your teeth out."

Sprawled in a position that crossed the line from 'comfortable' into 'invading your personal space', Izaya's watched him with a heavy-lidded smile. For a while, Shizuo just watched back, because it looked as though the flea had something to say. Never particularly reticent, the longer Izaya's silence dragged on, the more unnerved Shizuo got. If the goddamn louse couldn't bring himself to say something, then he couldn't imagine how fucking awful it had to be.

After a moment, Izaya just shrugged, turning away. "So… what do you want to do today?"

Okay, not what he'd been expecting – that had all started with "I know I told you I'd stop, but…" – but no less weird for it. He couldn't ever remember anyone asking him that before. Shit, before this, there'd been a lot of things no one had asked him before, and the last person he ever thought _might_ was the flea.

"Dunno." He stretched, feeling every muscle in his body protest before relaxing. "Maybe go see Shinra and Celty for real this time."

Propped up on one elbow, Izaya watched him curiously. "What _did_ happen yesterday, Shizu-chan?"

"Nothing. I just…" _Don't want to be the reason you're doing stupid shit. Don't want to be the reason you get hurt._"Over-reacted, I guess. I shoulda trusted you when you said you weren't gonna pull that crap anymore."

Izaya sighed. "For what it's worth, Shizu-chan, I think you're making a mistake."

"Maybe. But I just… this shit needs to be _over_, flea. It needs to be done. And it's never gonna be done if we're always looking over our shoulders."

Sitting up, Izaya anchored skinny arms around sheet-clad knees. "And what about making them pay for what they did?"

"I don't care about that." Shizuo stared up at the ceiling. "And yeah, it's selfish, I know that. I know I probably wasn't the first, probably… won't be the last. And I'm pretty fucking sure no one _else_ they…" Closing his eyes, he felt the tension shivering from the body next to his, but damn it he wasn't spending the rest of his fucking life scared of a _word_. "No one else they raped stands a chance at making them pay, but…"

"I understand," Izaya said, in a tone that said he didn't understand at all. "There's nothing selfish about wanting to forget, ne? And if it's you or some strangers I don't even know, then…" Sharply defined shoulder shrugged, drawing Shizuo's attention to the play of wiry muscle down Izaya's back.

"Yeah. _Human_ strangers, though."

Izaya glanced back at him. "And I don't care for any one of them in particular. They have their free will, ne? If that free will puts them in that sort of situation, then…"

"Like mine did?"

"That's…"

No, it really wasn't different. Because the fact remained that, even if he'd known what he'd get for the trouble, he'd never have done anything differently. He didn't know that he _could_. And maybe that was something Izaya was just never going to get, because if he still wanted whoever Shizuo had been before back again, then…

_That's who I am, flea. And you didn't much like it at the time, huh?_

But now, _this_… One arm still banded around his knees, Izaya rubbed the back of his neck absently, pale fingers carding through dark hair. Letting his gaze slide down to the point where the sheets pooled around narrow hips, he half expected to see careless bruises marring that milky skin, was ready to beat himself up for it. But the flea was about as flawless on the outside as he'd always been.

Inside…

It had been so gradual, he couldn't even pinpoint the moment it all changed. Maybe it was that first phone call. Maybe it was the first time Izaya touched him, or maybe it was the look in his eyes that day when Shinra called and said everything was okay. Maybe it was that kiss, or those hands, or that body. Maybe it had been chasing the flea through Ueno, or watching him in the mirror, lost in concentration while he bleached Shizuo's hair.

Maybe it was that day at Raijin. Maybe it was last night.

Or maybe he'd been lost the second he realized that this guy wasn't the annoying asshole who'd plagued his life for years. At least not entirely. He was well and truly fucked, he decided, when he started wondering how he'd _missed_ all this before, whether something he'd have done or said differently would've let him see it sooner.

It was one hell of a fucked up way to do it, but like a lot of things lately, "I don't like you" felt as though it belonged to another lifetime.

"Oi, flea…"

"Hmm?"

If he thought too hard about it, he wouldn't be able to do it. So he didn't think, just focused on how warm Izaya's skin was when Shizuo curled his fingers around the nape of the flea's neck and dragged him closer. How those sly eyes widened in genuine surprise, before they settled into something that would have been smug if it didn't have an uncharacteristically gentle light to it.

How that smartass, wicked mouth clung softly to his as the kiss deepened, so instinctive he couldn't tell which one of them moved first. Drawing back slightly, forehead pressed against the flea's, he laughed a little. "Who the fuck _are_ you, anyway?"

"I-za-ya, ne?" Every syllable was enunciated clearly, the corresponding characters drawn on his chest by one slender finger. As much as the flea liked writing his name on him, Shizuo shook his head wryly at the thought that the next damn thing was gonna be a collar and name tag.

And maybe it was _I-za-ya_, but either this was new or he'd never noticed it before. Since the flea was a damn good actor, and sometimes it took looking at the calendar for Shizuo to notice what day of the week it was, it could have been either.

Was it dumb to believe in the only thing that had been constant in his life, one way or another, for a long time? Was it stupid to trust in the one thing that had built him up as much as it broke him down? Was it wrong to think maybe, as much as Izaya had been strong for both of them, that this was one person he couldn't hurt?

Tch… just as well he never claimed he was smart then, huh?

Izaya purred a sound that went straight to his head as Shizuo flipped their positions, pressing the flea back against the mattress. Arms winding around his shoulders, Izaya arched up under him, smiling against his mouth. "Ah, then all Shizu-chan wants to do today is fool around, ne?"

"For a start, yeah."

Sometimes he caught himself wondering whether dumb things like this, slow kisses and tentative touches, were really him or just the fear. He'd kinda have liked to think it was just him, that he'd really have been okay with just doing that all day, satisfied enough with the simple heat of Izaya's mouth against his own, warm breath and wet tongue and too fucking gentle that he could barely stand it.

But he wasn't gentle, or patient, or capable of treating Izaya like he was something fragile or delicate. So it had to be the fear. It had to be one more thing he'd never get back, and Izaya could set up half of Tokyo and that was never going to change. The only thing that could ever change that was _him_.

Izaya's fingers tightened on his shoulders as Shizuo broke the kiss, lips working their way down the side of the flea's neck instead. He hesitated when Izaya _loosened_ his grip, as though or had hurt, or… Forcing aggression he didn't feel into the kisses, he worried at the thin skin of Izaya's collarbone until he left ugly reddening marks behind.

_That's who I am, right?_

But whatever he did, Izaya wouldn't hold on any tighter, wouldn't hold on tight _enough_. Just traced light, undemanding touches along his shoulders, the back of his neck, while Shizuo felt his own fingers grind hard on the flea's hips at the awareness that this shit wasn't just changing _him_.

_Well, fuck that…_

The lower he went, the less responsive the flea got, to the point he had to stop every now and them to make sure the damn louse was still _breathing_. If _this_ was gonna kill Izaya where vending machines had failed, that'd be… pretty fucking stupid. So was glaring at Izaya's erection as though it had morally offended him, but that didn't stop him.

Izaya sure as hell reacted when Shizuo edged a hand closer to his shaft, knees pressing together as he moaned something through the tight, bitten shut seam of his lips. And if he really was a gentle, patient kind of guy he'd have given a shit about what his fumbling touches were doing to the flea, how pissed off _he'd_ have been, once, with these barely-there, clumsy sweep of his fingers.

And damn it, he'd done this before, albeit he'd been dragged along for the ride. He wasn't going to get anywhere if he didn't… challenge himself. Wasn't that what the flea had been trying to make him do in the first place?

Closing his eyes, ignoring the way his stomach lurched, he lowered his head. For a second, he didn't even think he could force his tense lips to part, and as dry as his mouth felt it probably couldn't have been good for Izaya as he closed his mouth around the head of the flea's cock.

Izaya's thighs tensed under his hands. "Shizuo, wait…"

Lifting his gaze to actually meet Izaya's eyes wasn't gonna happen, so he fixed his stare on the hands the flea clenched into the sheets at his side instead. Whatever it was going to be, the way Izaya still pulsed hard against his tongue made him pretty sure it wasn't going to be _stop_.

"You need to…" A shudder ran through that slender body as Izaya swallowed hard. "You need to tell me what I can do, ne? If I can…" As much as he was trying to stay still, it was as though the flea couldn't help the tiny little jerks of his hips, breath catching every time it happened. "If I can talk, or touch you, or _move_…"

_Oh, shit…_

Izaya made a softly pained sound when Shizuo backed up abruptly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. Draping an arm across his eyes, the flea thumped the other fist into the mattress without much venom.

"I'm sorry. But if something I do reminds you of them, then—"

Feeling a frightened sort of anger make him shiver, Shizuo snarled, "The only fucking thing reminding me is you bringing that shit up all the time!"

Uncovering his eyes, Izaya stared at him, and Shizuo couldn't ever remember feeling as much of a prize fricking bastard as he did right then.

"Sorry. I didn't mean…_Fuck!_" Slamming a fist against the mattress with none of Izaya's lacklustre restraint, he was too fucking pissed off at himself to care much that the entire bedframe creaked at the impact.

"It's okay." Izaya sat up, but didn't make any moves to touch him. "You didn't offend me or anything. Actually, I'm… sort of pleased."

"Pleased?" Shizuo echoed, looking up with a frown that only deepened at the way Izaya's expression just backed up that claim. "The fuck is there to be pleased about?"

Izaya shrugged. "You're being honest, ne? With both of us."

Honesty was over-fucking-rated. If delusion meant he never have to think about this damn thing ever again, he was okay with that.

"I just… keep thinking it'd all be better if I could just fucking forget, y'know? About all of it."

With that unnerving perceptiveness, Izaya narrowed his eyes. "Can you?"

"Tch… if you're gonna tell me it's a lousy way to deal with things, then save your breath. I know it is…"

From the corner of his eye, he watched Izaya tilt his head. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"All the ways you _are_ dealing with things." As if to prove his point, Izaya reached out, fingertips skimming down Shizuo's back, and he waited for a flinch or a recoil that never came. Something in his head said he _should_, but his body was far too attuned to this to think there was any reason to. "Last night, Shizu-chan…" Sitting up, the low murmur ended with the brush of lips against his bicep. "Whatever your reasons for wanting to, you still did it. You still woke up naked in bed with another man and your world didn't cave in." He felt the smile curve against his arm. "Neither did my skull, thankfully. That tells you something, ne? And it's easier to work with something than nothing… Besides, if you forget all of it…" The nuzzles tracked up over his shoulder, feathering their way to the side of his neck. "You'll forget all this too."

"Thought you wanted that me back, flea?" He kept waiting for the fear, the panic, and still it never showed. _Something_ stirred at Izaya's touch, but it was nothing he could define that clearly.

"Hmm… maybe this is the new and improved version, ne?"

Shizuo scoffed softly. "Improved? Like fuck…"

"Ah, but you were starting from a very low point, Shizu-chan." A snicker puffed warm air along the nape of his neck, displacing the ends of his hair and making him shiver. "The only way to go was up."

Yeah… he couldn't really argue with that. He just didn't think he was any better now than he'd been before. If this wasn't a step back, then at best it was just a shift sideways. At least back then he hadn't felt like a lost fucking six year old every time he strayed too far from Izaya's side.

The flea's breath hitched in a pleased murmur as he was tumbled back against the sheets. Wrists locking loosely behind Shizuo's neck, Izaya smiled slyly up at him.

"If you're doing it, do it because you want to, ne? Take a leaf out of my book, Shizu-chan. You don't owe anybody anything, only yourself."

"Selfish bastard…"

"Maybe. But really, you'd be less prone to those mindless rages of yours if you just indulged yourself now and then. Relieve that stress before it builds up to that stage."

"You volunteering, flea?"

Izaya laughed against the kiss. "Ah, I'm not _that _masochistic, Shizu-chan."

He figured his true colours were starting to show when he couldn't concentrate on the kiss anymore, mind flooded with too many other thoughts to give it any real focus. Izaya didn't seem to mind, even though that really wasn't the point.

_Dumbass… what's it gonna take to get you to stop doing all this shit for my sake?_

They both tensed a little when he broke the kiss again, even though Izaya covered it well with a lazy smile. Not even bothering to fake a smile – the flea wanted honesty, right, however Twilight Zone that was – he swallowed hard, feeling the tension start to tighten his shoulders. Flexing his hands to try and work some of it off, he forced himself to acknowledge the things he really didn't want Izaya to do.

The position helped, he supposed. There were a few things Izaya just _couldn't_ do from there.

"Just…" He glanced up. "Don't tell me it's good, okay?"

He looked away before the flea's frown turned to full blown understanding. He couldn't take that shit. He could barely take the soft murmur of "Shizuo…"

"And don't…" Still not meeting Izaya's gaze, he gestured vaguely at his jaw. It was just tension making it ache now, but somewhere beyond that he could still feel fingers digging in, keeping his mouth prised open. "Anywhere else is okay, just… not there."

"Okay."

"And when you… _fuck_." He started to pull away, but the hands on his shoulders stopped him.

"I wouldn't have done that anyway," Izaya said. "Not unless you wanted it."

Something about the flea's tone made him shiver. If anyone _could _make him want it, then it was this bastard. It was a scary fucking thought that Izaya could probably talk him into almost anything.

And then there was nothing left to say.

Izaya's hard-on had flagged some, and Shizuo couldn't really blame him. A litany of all the shit he couldn't do and all the reasons _why_ wasn't exactly the kind of talking dirty the flea probably liked. Then again, he didn't know much of anything the flea liked. Frowning a little, he edged his hand back to splay low on Izaya's stomach, feeling the muscles twitch. Did that mean he liked it? Ah, fuck it…

None of this reminded him of _anything_; he'd never had the need to lean down, brush wary kisses along another man's hip bone before, had never had any reason to watch his hands sliding down another man's thighs, feeling the tension cord through them under his touch. He couldn't imagine a situation where this _wouldn't_ feel awkward as shit.

He'd have chalked the whole thing up to another bad decision, if Izaya hadn't arched up beneath him at some elusive combination of hands and lips that made the flea shiver. Fingers tightening reflexively on his shoulders, Izaya shifted his hips restlessly, cock hardening again to nudge against Shizuo's jaw.

Heart hammering his ribs to dust, he forced himself to take a breath as he turned his head, letting the hot tip drag along his cheek.

"Shizu-chan…"

And maybe it was as simple as the fact no-one else would fucking dare call him something that stupid, that the lame nickname was only ever associated with this man. No one else. Nothing else. He was still shaking when he bracketed Izaya's hips with his hands, lowering his head again to take that darkening cock between his lips, but he wasn't sure anymore what he was shivering _for_.

The thought crossed his mind that maybe he should have asked for a condom, just so that the only taste filling his mouth would be bland, plasticy latex. Eyes squeezing shut, he remembered that the flea hadn't even used one last night.

_Dumbass… what if Shinra got it wrong, huh? Stop taking stupid fucking risks for me…_

Behind closed eyelids, the scene played out again, the way Izaya had stared at him when that call came through. The tremor in his voice, in that broken threat. The sheen in his eyes before the walls of bluff and nonchalance came crashing back down. Maybe that day - _believing_ in that day – had been the stupidest risk of all.

Emboldened by the simple need to give something back, he schooled his breathing into a steady rhythm through his nose, shivering at the warm, musky scent, its edges softened by sleepiness and the faded hint of some expensive cologne. It wasn't oil and dirt and smoke, cloying at the back of his throat. It wasn't rough, cold concrete under his hands and knees, just wrinkled sheets and the plush sway of the mattress.

And Izaya just… tasted like Izaya. A little bit like his kisses, a little bit like his skin. Bracing himself for whatever reaction his overwrought mind decided to throw at him, he swept a shy, graceless lick across the head of Izaya's cock in a gesture about as sexy as licking some stray ice-cream from the lid of his milkshake.

"Ah…!" Izaya's hips jerked, as that taste bloomed more intensely on Shizuo's tongue. "You'd better not make me embarrass myself, Shizu-chan…" He heard a smile in the breathlessness. "If I turn into a pathetic minute-man because of you, I may just have to murder you anyway, ne?"

He'd have laughed if he wasn't so damn tense that the smallest movement felt as though it'd snap his spine in half. For all they'd said to him, he couldn't remember anyone threatening outright murder, but the flea couldn't have said anything better if he'd tried. Couldn't have said anything more _him_.

Shizuo shook his head slightly at the thought that hell, Izaya probably _was _trying, only for the flea to moan again, hips shuddering.

"Do that again."

Frowning a little, Shizuo repeated the action. When he was actually paying attention, he noticed the way the movement dragged his tongue back and forth against the underside of Izaya's cock, making it twitch, heavy and hot between his lips. Fingers awkwardly gripping the base – no one had made him do that, either, just jerked off against his bound hands – he drew back slowly, keeping his tongue moving even as that salty-sweet stickiness clung to the roof of his mouth.

It was okay. _He_ was okay. Izaya was right, his world hadn't caved in. Shit, everything Izaya did felt as if it added another column of support to his world, keeping it propped up on something far more stable than it had been before.

As he grew more accustomed to it – more used to the fact _he_ was the one doing this, it wasn't being done to him – he made himself pause every now and then to catalogue it. Just like his hands had done with Izaya's skin, he made himself take note of the heat, the texture, the way Izaya bucked without fail every single time his lips grazed just under the crown. And he'd known Izaya wouldn't be able to shut up, but it seemed the flea was really taking his instruction to heart.

"Ah, Shizu-chan's… hnn! Shizu-chan's technique needs work, ne…?" One hand in the sheets, Izaya slid his fingers into Shizuo's hair, not gripping or pulling. "But I've seen you drinking milkshakes, remember? Pretend I'm a –oh!—straw, hmm?"

Shizuo shrugged. He could do that.

"Shizu-chan…!" Izaya all but folded in on himself when Shizuo tightened his lips and sucked hard, exactly the way he would on a fast food place drink. And exactly the way he was usually rewarded then by cool sweetness on his tongue, this time it was more of that not totally unpleasant flavour. It wasn't sugary vanilla, or tart strawberry, but it wasn't… _bad_. He could probably get used to it.

But apparently not today.

"You have to…" The hand slid from his hair to cup against his cheek, pushing him back. "Shizuo, you need to stop…"

Something reckless and high on the sheer bravado of doing this at all railed against that, wanted to stay exactly where he was and to hell with it all. The rest of him thought it'd be stupid to push too far now, and just be content with the fact he hadn't made a fucking idiot of himself.

Izaya dragged him up into a kiss as his fingers overlapped Shizuo's stroking hard once, twice, the low cry muffled against his lips as wetness splashed between their bodies. The sharp scent of sex teased at his senses, and he caught himself tensing at the though of those hot streams spurting on his tongue instead, or across his face. Growling softly, he berated himself for not even trying, for not taking advantage of that moment of mindlessness to just… get the fuck over himself. Over this.

Clinging to his shoulders, Izaya shook his head, voice a breathless murmur against his ear. "Whatever's going on in that protozoan head, stop. I just came because of you, ne? Anything else…" He shivered at the words, and the soft lick rasped just beneath his ear. "There's plenty of time, hmm?"

He knew Izaya was right, but he still bit back the bitter snarl of "yeah, how fricking much time?" as he wound his arms around the flea, holding on. Better to focus on the implications of "plenty of time" when it came to him and the flea and… whatever this was. It sure as hell wasn't therapy anymore, that was for sure. There was probably some kind of ethical shit that kept therapists from doing this with their clients, at least outside of porn movies.

Izaya leaned back slightly, glancing down. "You didn't come."

Shizuo shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

He didn't think he'd been more than half-hard throughout it all, but it wasn't as though he hadn't gotten anything out of it. Maybe he still didn't know much, but he'd pretty much figured out that satisfaction didn't necessarily have to leave a mess on the sheets.

Before Izaya could offer to rectify that problem, he kicked off the sheets and got out of bed.

"Gonna go shower." He scratched his chest absently, watching the flea stretch out like a sated cat amid the tangled sheets. "Then you're paying for lunch."

Rolling over onto his stomach, Izaya looked up at him, brow arched. "Are you taking cholesterol on a bun over an orgasm?"

Shizuo snorted a laugh, making himself move away from the bed before he decided that yeah, that was a really stupid compromise. "Like you said, right? There's plenty of time."

* * *

><p>As long as Izaya lingered on his own shower, then on checking up on some emails, then on whether it better to eat now then head over to Ikebukuro, or eat once they got there – "It's been a while since I've had Russia Sushi's ootoro, ne?" – Shizuo was starting to suspect the flea was doing his damndest to change his mind about food over sex.<p>

It was working, too, but that was what he wanted. It had been a very long time since he'd found himself anticipating the next time he was undressed. Hell if he wasn't going to enjoy torturing himself with something he could actually control.

There was still something surreal about walking down a busy Shinjuku street with the flea. Now and then, he caught himself looking at trashcans and lamp post and wondering why he had no inclination to rip them from their moorings and smack Izaya around with them for a while.

Whether he could do the same back in Ikebukuro, though… he figured Izaya would probably understand if he said they needed to keep their distance, but it still didn't sit right with him. At least here, at least with the semi-privacy afforded to him by the sunglasses, he could watch the flea – humming off-key, hands in the pockets of his coat, making it swing coyly – without the whole fucking neighbourhood asking why.

_None of your fricking business why…_

They'd been heading down a quieter side street when some sixth sense instinct made his hackles rise as a kid slunk out of a nearby alley towards them, hands shoved in the pockets of an oversized hooded sweater. Shoved in and curled, like he was gripping something. Like a blade, or a pick, or—

"_What the fuck… why isn't this going deep enough?"_

_"That'd be because he's a freak." Hands grip his hair, tilting his face up even as he struggled against the rough, grinding jab of the needle. "Right, Heiwajima-san?" As roughly as he's pulled up, he's let go. "Does it need to go deeper? Because I'm sure we can think of some other way of delivering the drug, right?"_

_"…I can just keep doping him up, that'd work too."_

_"But it won't be as much fun, now will it? And we're all about fun, Heiwajima-san. So how about we find a place on you that won't break the needle, huh?"_

Without thinking, he grabbed the flea's arm, yanking him clumsily away, putting himself between the kid and Izaya.

The boy started up at him, eyes wide as Shizuo grabbed a handful of ratty sweater, pushing a body that felt lighter than the damn clothes against the nearest wall. It was just a _kid_, and fuck it, if he did have something in his pocket, he was putting himself in the line of fire, but adrenaline made his heart race, cold sweat sliding down between his shoulder blades. His voice shook a little as he snarled, "The fuck do you want, hah?"

"N…" The kid stared between him and Izaya. "Nakura-san…?"

"It's fine." Izaya's touch on his shoulder made him flinch, letting go of the kid abruptly. "He's just here with a delivery for me." The flea turned his attention to the kid. "Right, Kei-kun?"

"Yeah…" Ducking his head, the kid dug something out of his pocket, handing it over. It looked like a small mp3 player or some kind of pen drive. "I did like you asked, Nakura-san."

"Good." Izaya nodded, taking the device and pocketing it. The boy – Kei, then, Shizuo figured – hovered, looking as though he was waiting for something. Seriously, was the flea paying kids like this, younger than the kids Celty kept an eye on sometimes, to do his dirty work? "I'll see if there's anything here I can use, and I'll be in touch, ne?"

"Huh?" Kei stared after them as Izaya continued to stroll on. "That's it? What if—"

"You can lay low for a day or two, right Kei-kun? I said I'd think about it. No promises. If what you've brought me is useful, well, then that works in your favour. Otherwise..." Sauntering away, Izaya waved casually over one shoulder, leaving the kid sulking in their wake.

Shizuo waited out a dozen paces before asking gruffly, "The hell was that?"

"Hmm? Oh, Kei-kun? He's just… let's say I'm exploring a new avenue of information gathering."

"Tch…"

As much as that new, unfamiliar Izaya occupied his thoughts, it'd be stupid to forget that old Izaya wasn't exactly an act. The flea was still a shifty, dangerous bastard. Maybe not to _him_ anymore, but that didn't change anything, and when Izaya looked at him sometimes and said "trust me"…

But then he didn't have a great defence himself, did he? Not when he shirked any responsibility he might have had to keep other people safe. What difference did it make, if humans were getting hurt caught up in Izaya's schemes, or in Shizuo's inaction? The end result was the same. So maybe the question wasn't why he trusted Izaya with so much when the flea was still a sly, devious little shit. Maybe the question was why Izaya still saw a reason to keep doing this when he knew how much of a coward Shizuo was.

Izaya stopped outside one of the smaller, hole-in-the-wall fast food places, hands in his pockets as he smiled breezily. "How about here?"

Those might've been his words, but Shizuo heard "How about we don't go to the place we were in when you chased that bastard into the path of an oncoming truck?" And really, he didn't have much of an argument for that. At least this place just had the one front window he needed to keep an eye on, and he could see through the glass that a corner table looked free.

Something pricked at those instincts again, but when he turned, no one seemed to be following them. The late lunch crowd swarmed along the sidewalk, gathering at the crossings, too busy with their own shit to even spare them a glance.

_Tch, quit being so fucking paranoid. If you're freaking out every time the flea does something shady, you won't have time for anything else._

"Yeah," he said. "Here's fine."

He ordered his usual meal to cover all food groups – sugar, fat, salt, and ketchup – while Izaya deigned to order a salad.

"One of these days I'm going to force you to expand your food horizons, Shizu-chan." Izaya shook his head. "Or at the very least, postpone your heart attack by an hour or two."

"Oi, I'm cutting back on the smokes, right? One bad habit at a time, flea."

Then again, for every bad habit he tried to kick, he picked a new one up. The worst one of all snickered at him from the other side of the table.

"Is it wrong for me to be concerned about the way you pollute your body?"

"Not wrong." Shizuo jabbed a fry in the flea's direction. "Just fricking weird."

"Hmm." Izaya didn't seem too offended by that, smiling as he pushed his limp assortment of over-dressed leaves around its plastic container. "Well, then we'll make it a deal, ne? I told you before, nothing gets to kill you but me, so if you still want me to stop what I'm doing, you're going to have to start looking after yourself better. It's a hollow victory if I kill you just before you were going to choke on a cheeseburger, ne?"

The allusion soured his mood a little. Glaring at his food, he took a vicious bite of a suddenly tasteless burger. "You should stop doing what you're doing 'cause it's a fucking stupid thing to do, no other reason."

_You should stop because I'm asking you to._

"In your opinion." Izaya pointed a plastic spork at him, before sighing. "Do you even realize what backing down now will do to my reputation?"

"Who the fuck cares about that? Isn't it better to be alive to _have _a fricking reputation?"

"It's not that simple, Shizu-chan." Izaya looked at him sharply. "You of all people should know the dangers of having your reputation undermined, ne?"

"Tch… so stop doing shady shit altogether, huh? Or would doing an honest day's work instead kill you?"

Izaya laughed softly. "Ah, considering the people I've crossed over the years, Shizu-chan… it just might."

"All the more fucking reason."

Chin propped on one hand, salad abandoned, Izaya smiled at him. "Shizu-chan could be my bodyguard, ne? Or were you planning on going back to that…" he made a face, "deadend job of yours?"

Shizuo shrugged, and lied, "Hadn't through about it."

Only every time he thought about going home. But it wasn't even up to him. After all this time, after everything he'd done – leaving them in the lurch being the least of it – he had no reason to think Tom or Vorona would even want him back. They were probably doing fine without him. He had no doubt that, somewhere along the line, the flea was keeping tabs on all that. If nothing blipped on Izaya's radar, then chances were they were coping perfectly well without him. Smiling wryly at his burger, he caught himself hoping Tom found working with Vorona less stressful than working with him. It was probably cheaper, all told, as long as his kouhai hadn't seen fit to carry out any of those threats to annihilate half their clientele. Had he been a good enough sempai to make her see she didn't need to resort to those things, that she was better than that? Had he reminded Tom enough that he was so damn grateful for giving him a chance in the first place?

"Hmm? So what do you intend to do about all your outstanding debts, and…" An odd expression crossed Izaya's face. Suddenly alert, shifting into the same sort of brusque manner as he'd displayed with Kei, he flipped open his phone. Holding one finger up to silence Shizuo's questioning, Izaya dialled a number, still frowning as he held the phone to his ear.

After a few fruitless moments, he shut the phone off, setting it down on the table.

"The hell was that all about?"

"I just remembered an important appointment," Izaya said. "Tell me, Shizu-chan, would you still hold it against me if other people just refuse to answer their phones?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Izaya shook his head. "It just goes to prove my theory right, anyway. Humans use 'love' to cover up a multitude of sins, Shizu-chan."

Before he could even attempt to decipher what the hell that meant, a shadow loomed close to their table.

"Um… excuse me?" They looked up to see a nervous server hovering by their table. "Are you Heiwajima-san?"

"Yeah."

"This probably sounds odd, but someone just called the restaurant with a message for you." She held out a folded sheet of notepaper, headed with the brand logo. "They said it was important to give it to you as quickly as possible."

Frowning, Shizuo took the note, as the server backed up as fast as she could, scurrying back behind the counter.

Izaya was watching him warily as he unfolded the note, and whatever Shizuo had expected it to read, the street address, along with the instruction to "Please come as soon as possible", wasn't it.

"Where is this?" He handed the flea the note. Izaya scanned the address and shrugged.

"It's an office building, a couple of blocks from the station. Nothing particularly underground, as far as I'm aware. Well, nothing worse than a few bloodsucking insurance companies, anyway." He looked up, and something in Shizuo's blood froze at the way those too-casual barriers came down in those carmine eyes again, those shutters that were emblazoned with a declaration that the damn flea knew more than he was saying. "Do you know who sent this?"

"Why the hell would I know?" He growled. "You were sitting right there when she gave it to me." Pushing his mostly eaten food away, he got to his feet. "Take me there."

"Shizu-chan, we should wait and—"

"I said _take me there_."

Izaya sighed, following him out of the restaurant. "All right. But let me state for the record that I think this is a bad idea."

Sure he would. The sinking feeling that Izaya knew _exactly_ what this was continued to drag him down, every footstep feeling as though he was about to saunter off the edge of a cliff. The wide, busy sidewalks felt like narrowing tightropes by the time Izaya steered them onto another bland Shinjuku avenue, garish stores and restaurants interspersed with ugly, utilitarian looking office buildings. Nothing about the inoffensively ordinary street appeared in the least bit threatening, but something primal and _frightened_ rushing in his blood made it hard to breathe.

"You see?" Izaya stopped in front of one of the office blocks, its eight storeys bracketed on either side by taller buildings. "There's nothing here, Shizu-chan. Someone probably made a mistake, ne?"

Dragging a shaky hand through his hair, Shizuo looked around. There had to be _something_. That unease wasn't clawing at his spine for nothing.

"Come on, let's go." Izaya turned back in the direction of the station. "You still want to go back to Ikebukuro this afternoon, right?"

Shizuo shook his head. "I'm checking this place out first."

"What for?" He heard an exasperated sigh as he headed for the door. "What could anyone here possibly want with you?"

Good fucking question.

In the quiet of the lobby, he scanned the list of companies in the building, trying not to listen to how fast his heart raced. The flea'd been right about the insurance companies. Three different tenants occupied the first four floors, but nothing about them rang any alarm bells. Floor five was vacant and for rent, while floors six and seven housed a company that sold medicines door to door.

"This is ridiculous…" Izaya muttered under his breath, following anyway as Shizuo turned for the elevator, figuring he'd start at the top and work his way down. "I knew you were a reactionary idiot, but this…"

"Shut the fuck up."

"There's nothing _here_."

"Then it won't kill you to let me check and make sure, huh?"

"Che…"

The uneasiness slithering through his gut intensified tenfold as soon as he stepped out on the top floor. Granted, he didn't know how healthy the door to door medicine sales industry was, but he was pretty sure a company needed employees. Needed people, period. But the office they stepped into was entirely empty. Not in the abandoned way; there were still shiny green potted plants on desks, and recent model computers in the cubicles. But they were all silent. No phones rang, no copiers whooshed. Nothing.

Even Izaya looked a little more alert, hand slipping into his pocket for his knife.

"We really shouldn't be here," the flea murmured softly. "This isn't right, Shizu-chan."

"Too fricking late for that…"

He'd been scanning the unoccupied desks, when something made the neat stack of documents piled on one table flutter. On the far side of the room, a door to the roof had been propped open with a fire extinguisher, a shaft of daylight cutting down a flight of stairs.

"Shizuo—"

"Sssh."

Izaya grunted something unflattering, withdrawing his knife as they edged closer to the open door. The office remained eerily still around them, a set piece from a horror movie just waiting for the monster to leap out from nowhere and attack.

The breeze had picked up a little as he stepped out onto the roof, the surrounding buildings giving a deceptive sense of not being up as high as they were. Squinting against the light as he looked around, he was _that close _to admitting frustratedly that the flea had been right, there was nothing here, when a voice carried from the other side of a locked up ventilation unit.

"It's not nice making people wait."

Something about it wasn't exactly the same, but it was damn near enough to flood his head with all the things he'd heard that voice say before.

"_No point fighting… Heh, he's really into it now, huh? Opening up like a fucking whore…. What the fuck… why isn't this going deep enough? …I can just keep doping him up, that'd work too."_

He couldn't breathe. Scrabbling for something to hold onto, the rough brick of the ventilation building was the closest thing. He heard Izaya saying his name, but it wasn't enough to drag him back. Instead it was that voice again, scraping insidiously across his memory like barbed wire.

"It's all his fault, you know," that voice said, cracking with a slightly hysterical laugh. "He's the one doing all this. Ask him what he's done with my wife and kid, huh?"

The rooftop rocked and swayed like an ocean as he snapped his gaze to Izaya, watching those sly eyes scramble to form the lie. "Don't listen to him, Shizu-chan. After everything he did to you—"

"Shut up…" Sucking in breaths that burned his lungs like acid, Shizuo shook his head. His vision still wavered as he lifted his head to stare at the man standing at the edge of the building, looking worn and greasy in cheap dress pants and a wrinkled shirt. "What the fuck do you _want_?"

"Nothing." The man smiled, eyes wild and manic, fever-bright even at that distance. "I just wanted you to see what he's done. Or maybe it was all your idea, huh? Does it make you happy?" The man closed his eyes, tears streaking down his face. "I've got nothing now. So we screwed around with you a bit, we didn't fucking kill you. Just put you in your fucking place like the trash you are. But him?" Opening his eyes, the man pointed at Izaya, giggling frantically. "Oh, he's a million times worse." Fishing something from a pocket, he tossed a grimy cell phone Shizuo's way. "Is that any better than what we did? Huh?"

Not wanting to pick it up, Shizuo just toed the phone closer, trying to focus on the grainy photograph on the screen.

_No…_

"Least we let you go after, right?" The man's tone took on a pleading edge. "He wasn't ever gonna let them go. Heh, if it's money you want, _Nakura-san_, then take whatever the insurance pays out, just let them go. Just leave them the fuck alone. Not like I can ever go back to them like this anyway, right? Not like I can go anywhere…"

Taking a step closer to the edge of the roof, the man glanced back at him, teetering precariously, the wind buffeting his sweat-stained shirt.

"But… can I tell you one last thing? It's probably important that you know this…" Teeth flashed in a manic grin. "Even for a frigid virgin, you were a really crappy fuck, Heiwajima."

And then the world shifted into slow motion. Turning back towards the street, the man closed his eyes, arms spread as he leaned forward. He thought Izaya snapped out his name, thought maybe the flea reached for his arm. There was no way he'd cross the twenty feet of distance in time, but he was almost outside his body, watching it shrug Izaya off to do just that, lunging out at nothing as the man disappeared from sight over the edge of the building.

Blood roaring in his head, he barely felt himself dropping to his knees, barely felt the half-scream tear from his throat. When his vision cleared enough for him to see, he was kneeling over that beat-up phone, watching as drops of water splashed onto the screen and the image of a bound and crying Hanako Nishimura, trying her damndest to shield her terrified daughter.

"_He's the one doing this."_

And everything clicked into place. The information Izaya got from that kid, why he chose that restaurant. What had been so important about that mysterious phone call right before the waitress brought Shizuo that note.

It had been a fucking set up from the start.

"Shizu-chan—"

"No!"

Izaya was momentarily blotted out by the dark spots flashing in his vision as he lunged to his feet. The flea froze, one hand outstretched, and nausea retched in the pit of his stomach to remember how gentle those hands had been on his skin.

All lies. All of it.

"Shizuo, please, you have to listen to me, I—"

"I fucking said no!"

He didn't care about anything but getting away. At the periphery of his awareness he could hear the screams and shouts from the street below, and he had no fucking idea how he was _going _to get away, just that he had to. If he didn't, one of them was going to stop breathing, and he couldn't even decide which one of them he'd prefer it to be.

_Both of us. You drove him to this too._

"Don't be stupid." Izaya hissed, snatching at his shirtsleeve, and the sound that ripped from Shizuo's throat didn't even sound human as he shoved the flea away. "Shizuo, _stop_."

He couldn't. He just had to get the fuck _away_.

Stumbling back to the stairs, he heard Izaya talking again, but nothing made sense. The flea might as well have been speaking English for all Shizuo understood the words.

_But that was your mistake from the fucking start, huh? Listening to anything this fucked up bastard had to say._

Even as the thought wormed its way free of his psyche, something like a whimper caught in his throat, because he knew that wasn't true. None of it was true. He'd _known_ Izaya was doing this because he was too much of a coward to, he'd just… oh, fuck, he'd never dreamed the flea would go this far because of him.

And nothing he'd done had changed a damn thing. Not last night, not this morning, none of it. After everything they'd done, everything they'd said, Izaya had sat calmly in that restaurant and set this up anyway.

He'd been right. Izaya was a stranger. Just not the one Shizuo had been hoping for.

He kicked the fire extinguisher away from the door as he staggered back into the empty office. Izaya would find a way to slither out of this somehow, and he _had_ to do something to keep the flea from following him. He needed distance, he needed…

_Oh, fuck, how could I have been so fucking stupid as to think I needed_ you…?

The lurch of the elevator sent the nausea spiralling, but as emptied out as he felt, that was all it did, bitterness burning at the back of his throat as he pounded blindly at the elevator doors, too impatient for them to slide open at the ground floor.

_Get away. Just get the hell away._

He didn't know where he was going, just that he wasn't going back to Izaya. Couldn't. He couldn't take one more lie. Shouldering his away through the crowds that streamed out of the insurance offices, he recoiled at the smell of blood and concrete that greeted him as he stepped out onto the street. He couldn't see where the body had fallen, but he didn't need to.

"_I just wanted you to see what he's done."_

Stumbling down the street, wiping at his stinging eyes with his shirtsleeves, the only thing Shizuo could think was that he'd been so fucking blind, so desperate not to see it, it was about fucking time _someone_ did.

* * *

><p>The only thing that penetrated the icy fog that closed in around Izaya's head after Shizuo locked him out on that rooftop was that he was grateful he had his knife. Grateful that the shabby office building hadn't believed in bringing their fire escapes up to code. Grateful that, somehow, he'd managed to slip away unnoticed through the throng of gawking, morbidly curious onlookers on the street.<p>

He wasn't sure how, anymore than he was sure how he got from there to his office, and then to the nondescript building in Shibuya, except that for some reason it took several hours. It might have had something to do with the time he'd spent sitting at his desk, staring out of the window, and trying to process what had just gone so awfully _wrong_.

As many times as he'd gone over his information, he was certain that building hadn't been linked to Nishimura in any way. What he was doing there, what made him choose that one specifically, Izaya couldn't tell. Had he been following them? Watching them? Because he was the one who'd sent Shizuo that message at the restaurant, it had to be. That must have been why, when Izaya tried calling him a few minutes earlier, his cell number had been busy.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that look in Shizuo's eyes, furious and betrayed. Worse than that, _frightened_, broken with a panic that was so much worse than the one he'd seen in the blond's eyes after the rape.

It would have been a little easier to take, he concluded, if he _had_ violated Shizuo's trust as surely as those bastards violated his body. He put down his numbness to the unfamiliar position of being accused of something he hadn't actually done. Sooner or later, he'd feel the anger and frustration that surely came along with that. He'd feel the fear that came from not knowing where Shizuo was or what he was doing. He'd feel the hollow loss of everything he'd built slipping through his fingers.

He wasn't really feeling anything, least of all up for dealing with this little loose end, but something practical in the back of his mind reasoned that he needed to do this today. With Nishimura dead, they were bound to want to talk to Hanako and Megumi. Their absence would be suspicious, and he really didn't want it leading back to him.

Didn't want it leading back to Shizuo.

As late as it was, he let himself in quietly. Startling Hanako was going to be less trouble than waking Megumi up at this hour.

In the washed-out glare of the TV, Hanako stood abruptly from the couch, one hand clutched to her chest. Was this how she usually greeted men who walked through her door late at night, he wondered. Well… she wouldn't have to do it anymore. At least not for Nishimura's sake.

"Good evening, Hanako-chan."

"What…" Her gaze darted from him, to the front door, to the hallway leading to Megumi's room. "What do you want?"

"Nothing you need be that nervous about."

Sitting down on the opposite couch, he gestured for her to sit, busying himself with the remote control for the TV while she hovered between complying and running. It wouldn't particularly bother him which one she chose; he doubted anyone would believe she was implicated in her husband's death.

She'd been watching some old melodramatic movie. Izaya made a face at it as he switched over to the news channel, turning the volume up. A little more confused than frightened, Hanako finally sat down. He watched her frown at him in peripheral vision.

"Nakura-san—"

"Just wait." He smiled, pressing a finger to his lips.

He didn't need to wait long. After a long, droning piece about the way the recession just claimed a furniture store chain that had been in the same family for four generations – really, humans had their priorities straight, that was for sure… - the newscaster turned her groomed attention to the delay caused to public transport earlier that day in the city thanks to another pesky jumper.

"The deceased was identified at the scene by colleagues as thirty year old Gorou Nishimura," the newscaster said with dispassionate indifference. "Sources close to the police reveal that Nishimura may have had ties to the Wakahisa group, although this is as yet unconfirmed, as are reports that Nishimura was in severe debt. In other news, Diet members today agreed to vote on—"

There was silence after he turned the television off. After a few moments, he heard a quiet snuffling coming from his side, like the whimpering final throes of a small animal.

Plucking the plain envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket, he set it neatly on the coffee table. Hanako stared at it as though he'd just slid her own death warrant across the small teak square instead.

"What is this…?" Her gaze flicked from him to the envelope and back again.

Izaya shrugged. "Everything you and Megumi-chan need to make a new life somewhere else."

The longer she stared, the more he was starting to realize that she'd never _wanted_ a new life. Be it fear, or habit, or comfort, or a dozen other things, Hanako would have chosen her old existence over the chance of forging something new. Despite everything Nishimura had done to her – and Izaya was certain the things he'd seen barely scratched the surface – despite everything he might have done to her or Megumi in the future, Hanako _missed_ him. Grieved for him.

No… she grieved for the fantasy. Grieved for all those idealistic things that had no doubt carouselled through her head on the day they met, before she knew what kind of man she'd actually chosen. It must have been unpleasant, knowing you'd make that monumental a mistake, and sometimes Izaya thought his humans thrived on complaining, because surely if you didn't, you'd grab onto the opportunity to rectify those mistakes with both hands. You wouldn't cry for the mistake and reject the solution.

The silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she nodded mutely at the envelope irritated him enough that he had to get up and put some space between them.

He was hardly expecting gratitude when this gesture wasn't even for her, but he'd expected her to see it made sense.

So when she looked up at him, wordless accusation brimming in her eyes and asked "What did he ever _do_ to you?" he didn't feel too bad about answering.

"He and three of his… friends, colleagues, however he chose to see them, kidnapped, drugged and raped the only person who's been truly worthy of my time."

_The only person who's ever mattered to me more than I do._

He half expected her to rail and rant at him, telling him Nishimura wasn't like that, wasn't capable of something like that. Instead, she stared at her hands for a long moment, before asking quietly, "Your girlfriend?"

And he could have been vague. He could have shrugged and said "something like that." Waiting until Hanako finally looked up at him, Izaya shook his head. "My lover. You met him, ne? Hanejima-san? That nice guy who let Megumi-chan play with his sunglasses."

Hanako looked down.

"I'm sorry."

Izaya shrugged, leaving the keys on the table as he left.

"Me too."

A few days ago, he might have joked breezily that he'd rather have her thanks than her apology, but that didn't seem to matter anymore.

He caught the last train back from Shibuya, castigating himself for that little flare of adrenaline that rushed through him every time he saw a blond head among the crowd. Shizu-chan wouldn't be here. For all he knew, Shizu-chan wasn't anywhere.

_Would it have made a difference, Shizu-chan, if I hadn't been too much of a coward to tell you I loved you? Would you have believed me then? Would you have seen I was only ever doing this for you? _

But he hadn't. As many opportunities as he'd had, he'd chosen to keep silent, chosen to protect some fabled status quo that he was beginning to think had only ever existed in his head. Chosen the distinction of gods and monsters, and the futile hope that one day, he'd realize that all he'd wanted was his everyday world back again.

He turned on all the lights when he got home, mechanically checking every room for golden hair or amber eyes or the snikt of a lighter and the flare of a cigarette. Shizuo hadn't even taken his key with him earlier, but even if he had, even if he'd left his most valuable worldly possessions here, he wouldn't be back tonight. Sitting blankly in front of his laptop, Izaya had the feeling he'd wait up anyway, just in case.

As he shrugged off his jacket, something small fell out of the pocket.

Kei's mp3 player.

Honestly, listening to Takahashi and his boy toy fuck was the last thing he wanted to do tonight, but if he wasn't going to sleep anyway, he might as well spend those waking hours with, perhaps, a better idea of how to get to this bastard.

Because he _would_, one way or another, and Shizu-chan wasn't going to stop him. He'd come too far to back down now. _Shizuo_ had come too far for him to back down now. He wasn't going to let Nishimura's flair for dramatic exits take that away from him. Eventually, Shizuo would calm down and come home – he always did, ne? – and when he did, Izaya needed a game plan to present, along with some evidence that he'd had nothing to do with Nishimura's little show.

He braced himself for whorish moaning and groaning that would inevitable make his skin crawl when he couldn't keep himself from wondering if that's what Shizuo heard, too.

But he needn't have bothered. Instead of the sounds of heavy breathing and skin on skin, the file just played a few seconds of crisp silence, before a smooth voice cut in.

"A word of advice, Orihara-san. Next time you want information about me, never trust the whore I send you."


	22. Chapter 22

_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 175 - 190)**_

_**Warnings:**__** Some references to rape, some violence (and if it's even necessary to warn you since you've read this far, another cliffhanger ;D).  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter Twenty Two

During the hours he waited for Shizu-chan to come home, Izaya replayed Takahashi's message over so many times he had it memorized. Knew when the smarmy little chuckles were coming, knew when the man on the recording paused for dramatic effect. A study in perfect conceit.

He played it again as dawn broke, eyes closed, lips moving in silent mimicry of the words.

"I'm disappointed, Orihara-san. Kei said you were good, so I expected better. But then," Takahashi chuckled softly, "all you managed to take care of was a loser and a punk. Even the men I wouldn't trust to feed my fish would be able to deal with that much."

Izaya wondered whether Takahashi's fish were the kind swimming around in the gloom of Tokyo Bay. He'd be reunited with them soon enough if that was the case.

"If everything went as it was meant to today, you're probably wondering about Nishimura," Takahashi went on, and Izaya wished this one sided conversation was taking place face to face because he would have gleefully shrugged and replied "No, not really."

But he did wonder. Not about Nishimura himself - the bastard was lucky he'd jumped before Izaya could shove him - but how the whole mess had been orchestrated so well.

_Who knows, I might even learn something, ne?_

"I should thank you for the excuse," Takahashi said mildly. "He was becoming a liability for me. If he had his way, the Wakahisa wouldn't have ten yen to their name by the end of the year. Of course, he didn't become _wholly _unhinged until his wife and daughter went missing. Convenient timing, wasn't it?"

A slow shiver always worked its way down Izaya's spine at that part of the audio file. It wasn't as though he even cared what happened to Hanako and Megumi, not really. They were no more than two humans who barely blipped on his radar. It was just that every time he thought about them he saw one of two things; Hanako's tears for her rat bastard of a husband, and Shizuo's shy smile as Megumi squealed over his sunglasses.

He had a suspicion she wouldn't take advantage of the money and documents he'd left her. She'd never run. His conscience was clear that he'd given her the opportunity, but that was the problem with humans; with rare exceptions, free will usually translated as making the dumbest choices available.

_Ah, but you've made your fair share of those lately. Starting with straying from the path when it came to Shizu-chan. You should have stuck to breaking him. It would have been so much easier for everyone._

Knife in hand, he began hacking shallow cuts into the stack of papers on his desk, heedless as to whether any of them had ever been important, while Takahashi continued his little speech, sounding terribly amused.

"He got it into his head that Heiwajima-san had hired some assassins to take care of his attackers. Never mind that, to all intents and purposes, Hayashi was a rival yakuza hit, and Satou…" Takahashi laughed out loud, and Izaya's knife slammed clean through the papers into the desk, because he _remembered_, damn it, he remembered how Shizuo reacted to that worthless punk's well deserved demise. He remembered watching the glassy, shimmering brown eyes of a monster, a mindless _beast_, while this pathetic excuse for a human being could sit there and laugh like it was nothing. "Satou was a _truck _hit. You know I always used to tell him it'd take something like that to knock some sense into him. Funny how our methods seem to gel don't you think, Orihara-san?"

The knife tore out of the desk in a flurry of splinters and shards of confetti. It made an odd whirring sound as it whipped across the room, embedding itself in the door.

"I'm _nothing _like you," he snarled into the silent room. "Nothing."

"And he's foolish enough to think that if he sacrifices himself, he might actually save his wife and daughter. Ironic, isn't it, when he couldn't see fit to show them any respect before. I suppose we'll see whether he can see it through. We only really know what we're made of when we're pushed to the edge, wouldn't you agree? You being quite the connoisseur of human nature, after all." The voice got a little louder, as if Takahashi leaned conspiratorially closer to the recording device. "Oh, didn't I mention? You're not the only one who's being doing his homework, Orihara-san."

Every time he heard that line, he grew more and more irritated by it. It had taken a few repeats for him to realize that it was because he'd been careless enough to _allow _it.

"It wasn't as hard as I thought." And he bristled every time Takahashi said _that _too. "I get the feeling you've never been too careful about cultivating enemies, Orihara-san. For someone who claims to love humans - it is humans, right? - you've been a little lackadaisical about making sure they love you back enough not to spill every nasty detail they know about you to the first person who asks. Don't you even watch movies? If you're going to reveal your deep dark plan to some poor sap, you'd better be willing to make sure they don't walk away alive to tell the tale."

And just like he had from the second time he'd listened, Izaya smiled grimly as he murmured, "Is that a threat, Takahashi-san?"

"Yes, Orihara-san, that's a threat. In case you were wondering. But you know, far more interesting than your strange, borderline sociopathic tendencies was your history with Heiwajima-san. Because after everything I heard about you, I have you pegged as the last person in Tokyo I'd have thought would leap in to be his avenging angel."

_Ah, I never claimed to be an angel, Takahashi-san…_

"So you'd understand why I'd be curious. I mean…" Takahashi laughed indulgently, while Izaya stared at knuckles turned white from gripping the armrest of his chair so hard. "I knew you hadn't been fucking _him_, right? And a lot of people seem to think you're gayer than Christmas but you didn't take the bait with Kei. So you're probably sitting there not thinking 'man this idiot's going out on a limb', aren't you?"

There was still a chip in the side of the desk and a bruise on the underside of Izaya's fist from the first time he heard what came next. He hadn't heard the end of the recording on that first play-through. He had a five minute blank in his memory that he doubted he'd ever get back, but the mess of his office betrayed him. The books were still on the floor in bent and scuffed piles from where he'd shoved them from the shelves. The blinds were still askew above the cracked and spilt potted plant, its dirt and broken leaves scattered along the low windowsill.

And Izaya still had to fight back the blind fury to do it all over again every time Takahashi laughed and said, "But then I remembered how he'd tried to call you afterwards. I mean, he was so far gone I don't think he remembered his own name and for all I know he might've been dialling the first number he got to in his address book. Maybe he was just scrolling through and he was on your number when he passed out. Kind of sweet isn't it? We threw his phone away before he could call, obviously, but…"

He'd told himself the first few times when he'd actually listened with a half-lucid ear that it had to be a lie. Had to be, because of all the people in the world to call at that moment, he was the last person Shizuo would have consciously chosen.

But he _had _called the blond once or twice, usually to taunt him from afar before making his dramatic entrance. That hideous orange phone probably did have his number programmed into it, because it was such a Shizuo thing to do, to consider himself forewarned if his phone rang and the contact details read 'it's that shitty fucking flea again, don't answer!'.

So while there was no doubt in his mind that Shizuo would never in a million years have willingly picked his name out of any list on the planet, even drug-addled and broken and hurt… he might have. By accident, by coincidence, whatever it may have been. Shizuo might have called him.

That wasn't what made him angry.

What made him angry was knowing precisely how he would have answered that call.

_"Shizu-chan, is that you? To what do I owe the pleasure… oh? Kidnapped, drugged and raped, you say? Let me get my camera and I'll be ri~ght with you!"_

Because he wouldn't have known, then. He wouldn't have seen it. He'd have seen a broken, beaten monster getting what was coming to him and he'd have been back to the simple, uncomplicated reason of wanting Takahashi to pay just for getting there first. For succeeding where Izaya failed, without ever stopping to wonder _why_ such a capable, intelligent man _kept _failing.

_I'd probably have shaken his hand before I killed him, though._

There was a pause on the recording then. In the background, Izaya thought he could hear the harmonious chink of crystal and the soft glug of something expensive being poured. "I suppose I could go easy on you and invite you to some neutral ground, but we're past that aren't we, Orihara-san? So how about you come to Ueno. I can't guarantee you a _warm _welcome, but I'll certainly roll out the red carpet for you. Well…" Something clinked, like ice swirling lazily in a whiskey glass. "It will be red when we're done, anyway."

Takahashi ended the recording with a clipped recital of an Ueno address and a meeting time. Izaya brought it up on the mapping software on his computer. Whenever the photos on screen had been taken, it appeared to be a grimy, utilitarian looking office building. He was willing to bet it was empty now; it stood on land that was in prime demand for the Wakahisa and their loansharks.

_Into the lion's den, ne? Well then, it pays to be prepared._

The morning sunshine was just reaching the broken pottery of his office plant as he dialled out the familiar number of a certain Awakusu executive. There would be far too many questions, but Izaya couldn't think of any alternatives.

"Yes?"

"Ah, Shiki-san? It seems as though I'll have to impose on you again to request a favour."

He could all but hear the frown lines elongating on the other end of the line. "What sort of favour this time, Informant-san?"

"I'm in the market for… some equipment."

"Equipment?" It was difficult to tell whether the change in the older man's tone was down to surprise or amusement. Neither sat well with the picture in Izaya's head. "You're asking me for weapons, Informant-san?"

"No. Just _a _weapon, as in singular." At Shiki's silence, he went on, "I wouldn't ask, but unfortunately none of my current clients are involved in the smuggling of weapons or gun-running. If there were, I could just borrow something and put back." Closing his eyes, he summoned as much nonchalance as he could. "Ah, but if you can't do it, then—"

"That's hardly the issue. What do you need a gun for, Informant-san? What are you involved with this time?"

"Nothing," Izaya said, protesting as though the very suggestion was an insult to his character. "I'm merely looking to invest in a little… self-defence, that's all."

"Really," Shiki said. "It might serve you better to look into hiring a bodyguard, then. Maybe Heiwajima-san. Last time I saw him, he looked as though he was spinning his wheels, he might be interested in a job offer."

"If it was that simple, I'd make do with my knife, ne?" Izaya shrugged, before pausing, replaying those words in his head. Sitting up, he frowned as he gripped the edge of his desk. "When, exactly, did you see him?"

There was a moment's silence, during with the executive must have been weighing up the pros and cons of divulging the information. Then a sigh. "Day before yesterday. My men saw him leaving the station and… overreacted. Of course, they _did _suspect he was dead, considering no one had seen him for weeks."

"Ikebukuro station?"

Another long silence. "You didn't know?"

Rubbing his hand over his squeezed shut eyes, Izaya decided he'd just had his answer as to what the hell had happened that day for Shizu-chan to come back in such a… passionate frame of mind. And while he couldn't come out and ask directly, he knew Shiki-san well enough to know that the older man was far shrewder than fools might give him credit for; no one rose to his position in the ranks at a relatively young age without a skill for incisive questions and a knack for reading people. Unfortunately for all of them, Shizuo wasn't exactly a closed book. If Shiki had spent more than ten seconds with him, the protozoan idiot had probably told the executive all he needed to know, one way or another.

And whatever it was, Izaya supposed he had little room to complain, all told, but no doubt the conversation that drove Shizuo to those measures - to that _reaction_- hadn't exactly eased his suspicions.

_But he went to bed with you anyway, ne? Whatever he said, whatever he heard, whatever frightened him, he wanted you anyway._

"Of course not." He leaned back in his chair again, relaxing his body in the hope that it might carry in his voice. "How many times do I need to tell you, that monster has nothing to do with me. I could care less where he goes."

"Funny," Shiki said, "that's almost exactly what he said about you."

Izaya smiled up at the ceiling. "Well then, why would we both lie to you, Shiki-san? This has nothing to do with him."

And it didn't. Not anymore. Shizuo wasn't coming back, but that didn't mean Izaya wouldn't see his mission through. He'd come too far to back down now, done too much, and Takahashi's last little stunt had changed things. Playing with his toys without asking and putting them back in the box broken was one thing. Using that to question is judgement, his ability, his competence, to destroy all the work he'd done, to turn _him _into the bad guy…

Taking a shaky breath, he forced the smile into his voice. "I'll make it worth your while, Shiki-san. The next job pro bono, ne?"

"Make it the next five and I'll see what I can do."

"Ah, you drive a hard bargain." And he might as well agree to the terms, because if he lived long enough to let the Awakusu cash that deal in, well… "Fine. But for that you'd better throw in the ammo, too."

Shiki snorted a gruff laugh. "I think you have that part covered on your own, Informant-san. When do you need this equipment?"

"Tonight."

A sigh. "I'll see what I can do. I'll get back to you with information about a pick-up point if can arrange something at this short notice."

He stared at his phone for a long time after Shiki hung up, half inclined to try calling Shizuo again. He'd been foolish enough to think it had been a good idea earlier in the night, but he hadn't been able to find the words then and nothing would have changed in the past few hours.

Anyway, it had to be about him now. If it was still about Shizuo, Izaya wasn't sure he could make it to the endgame without coming undone. And he didn't _do _that. It had been a mistake, all along, mixing business with pleasure.

Perhaps he should have stayed the bad guy. Perhaps breaking Shizu-chan all over again would have been better than this, because at least he'd be broken _Izaya's _way, not via some third-rate yakuza thug trying to play him at his own game.

At least it'd be by his hand. He owed Shizuo that much, at least.

* * *

><p>Looking back, it all made perfect fricking sense.<p>

All those other times he'd walked away, all those other times he swore blind he wasn't going to go back and that Izaya had just gone too goddamn far, something deep down had known perfectly well he was lying through his teeth. Of course he was gonna go back. Where the hell else did he have to go? Who the hell else would put up with him?

Who else would _ever _have put up with him?

But it was different now. Izaya had _made _it different. There were some things you just couldn't go back on.

He knew he'd been a fool to believe in it at all, but fuck it, he'd asked, he'd all but fricking _begged _Izaya to stop. The damn flea chose not to. That was his fucking problem, not Shizuo's.

He had enough money on him for the train - he'd been dumb enough to take his wallet with him thinking he could probably stretch to pay for Izaya's ootoro from Russia Sushi if they'd made it as far as Ikebukuro, and damn it he was going to pay his own way for once - but he chose to walk instead. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to back to that morning, to waking up and thinking just maybe he hadn't made the biggest fricking mistake of his life.

He wanted to go back to last night. If he knew it'd be over in less than twenty four hours, he might've let Izaya fuck him and get it over with. Maybe that would have changed things. But he'd failed again, so the flea probably thought he still needed 'encouragement', right?

And he couldn't even be angry, 'cause who the hell did he have to be angry _at _besides himself?

It was weird how streets that had seemed so damn threatening just a few days ago drifted by in a haze as he walked. Even as darkness fell, casting the alleys and doorways in fathomless shadows. Anything - anyone - could be lurking in there, but he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. It was easy to be reckless when you had nothing left to lose. Up until today, he'd thought maybe he still had some… ah, fuck it, he didn't know. A tiny part of himself who still knew who he was. Something deep down that kept reassuring him that it couldn't be that bad 'cause he'd never _let _it get that bad. That he learned from mistakes. That he was done hurting people.

So he didn't care who might be waiting around every dark corner he turned. Nothing could be worse than the person he was carrying with him.

No one even glanced his way as he dragged himself back to his apartment. Maybe he'd been away long enough for them to forget who he was. Who he'd been. What he'd done. Or maybe they could tell that he was so far beyond pissed off, someone asking him for the time was liable to find their bodies on Sunshine Street and their heads somewhere in the bay.

The phone rang exactly once as he walked. Since two people had this number, and he could've counted on one fist how many times Kasuka called him off his own bat, Shizuo let it go to voicemail. He didn't want to hear any fucking excuses, or the flea's clever justifications.

Trudging up the steps to his door, he half expected to be interrupted by the flea's yakuza buddies again, or even worse - even stupider - that Izaya had gotten back before him and was waiting outside his door. But the landing was empty and quiet as he let himself in. Somewhere down the hall he could hear a television playing, the shrill shrieks of some tacky game show reminding him that _this _was real life, not the cocoon he'd wrapped himself up in with Izaya. Real life wasn't therapy and dealing and gentle touches and all the time in the world. It was sucking it up and getting on with shit.

The lights were out. He'd forgotten that. He'd have to call in the morning and see about getting it turned back on, assuming he had enough left in his bank account to pay for the outstanding bill. And he'd need to look for a new job. Something that didn't involve people, that'd be ideal. Maybe he'd drop by Shinra and Celty's - third try was always the charm, right? - and see if they knew of anything he might be suited for.

_Yeah, like you're suited for anything._

If there was no electricity, likely there wouldn't be any hot water either. He'd deal with that tomorrow too. He was too damn tired to bother tonight anyway.

The lights might have been off, but it was never dark in the city at night. Not really. Crawling onto his bed he didn't bother with the covers, just drew his knees to his chest and closed his eyes. If he didn't move around too much, he could ignore how cold the sheets were, how uncomfortable and flat the mattress was, and that this wasn't Izaya's bed anymore. Just his. Same old one it had always been. Empty, and cheap, and not that safe, but _his_, and something the goddamn louse had never touched.

And he was still a glutton for punishment, because he couldn't help reaching for the phone on the nightstand, watching the room light up in an eerie glow as he punched in the message retrieval number. Shadows crept along the walls as he listened to the flea lie to him for the last time.

But the messages just played out a few seconds of deep silence, before a soft, exasperated sigh and the terse noise of the call cutting off.

Huh. Maybe the flea was done lying.

It wasn't the sort of thought conducive to a good night's sleep, but then Shizuo hadn't expected one. Even before daylight crept its way through the window again, he was shivering through a cold shower in a bathroom where scrubbing his back meant banging his elbows on the door and anyway, it was hard doing all that with his eyes closed because there was still a hole in the wall, and he didn't want to be reminded of why it was there.

He knew it had been a mistake getting used to Izaya's place.

First chance he got, he called the landlord about getting the power turned back on. Rooting through his cupboards in an attempt to find anything that might have outlasted his absence, he tried to dream up some excuse for the fact he'd been AWOL for so long. How the hell he hadn't been turfed out on his ass and the locks changed, he had no idea.

"Huh? But the rent's paid up." His landlord sounded confused. He heard papers shuffling in the background. "Last payment came through, let's see… end of last week. So you're gonna have to call the power company about the electricity yourself, since there's be no violation of the terms of lease."

Giving up on the futile quest of finding anything edible, Shizuo squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the phone tight. "Who paid it?"

"Uh…" More shuffling. "Says here it's a regularly scheduled payment from an Izaya Orihara. Oh, hey, he's your buddy right? He's the guy who never brought back your spare key?"

Gritting his teeth, Shizuo felt his voice tremble with the effort to keep from snarling. "Cancel it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. He was… helping me out for a while. But I'm back now so you can cancel it."

"If you say so."

Oh, he fucking said so all right. Freeloading off Izaya at the flea's place was one thing, but to know he'd been paying for _this _place for the duration…

Still didn't solve the problem that he had maybe five hundred yen to his name, most of which was gonna have to pay for breakfast on the way to see Celty and Shinra, and he needed to make this place liveable again.

Fuck, he found himself half-hoping he might run into Tom as he stopped off at the fast food place for the cheapest meal they had on the menu. How fricking selfish was that? His senpai wasn't good enough to turn to when… when things had been going wrong, but he was fine if it meant Shizuo got his job back. Was the flea's self-centredness rubbing off, or had he always been that much of a jerk?

But he didn't bump into anyone, and deep down he was glad. Tom would ask where he'd been, _how _he'd been, and as well intentioned as those questions were, Shizuo didn't have answers that didn't leave him so fucking angry he could melt concrete. He knew he'd have to face up to it one day, he just… wanted a little more time to get his story straight. Maybe he could say he'd been with Kasuka, or make up some random long-lost aunt out in the countryside.

He ate his burger on the way to Shinra's not really tasting it. He figured it was just too much grease for breakfast, and he was so used to throwing random crap together in Izaya's kitchen, so…

_Stop fucking thinking about him. He made his choice. You don't need to keep wondering where he is, or what he's doing, or whether he's in trouble, or…_

"Tch…" Tossing the remains of his food in the trash and he walked, the buzz of the phone in his pocket made him start. Pulling it out, he glared at the unrecognized number on the caller display. "How the hell am I meant to forget about the whole goddamn thing when you won't go the fuck away…?" Jabbing the button to accept the call, he scowled at nothing as he muttered. "What the hell do you want?"

"What a nice welcome so early in the morning. Really, Heiwajima-san, you disappoint me. I thought I'd at least taught you some manners."

As slack as his fingers went on hearing that voice again, he had no idea how he managed to hold onto the phone. For a second he couldn't hear anything, the whine ringing in his ears only punctuated by the quick staccato beat of his heart. It wasn't even a cold morning, but his shirt was sticking to a clammy, cold sheen of sweat, and the _only _thing that nudged meekly past the terror was the thought that Izaya had done this.

_Shit, flea, if you're…_

"No? Oh well…"

Breathing so hard and fast his head spun, he managed to grind out, "How the fuck did you get this number?"

"Your boyfriend doesn't have exclusive access to the information network, you know. If he's careless enough to call my pet from a phone he then uses to call you…" The voice drifted down the line in a sinuous caress. "Do you make him careless, Heiwajima-san? That'd be a shame, wouldn't it?"

"What do you want?"

"Just to extend an invitation, Heiwajima-san. To a very interesting show." The voice laughed mockingly. "Oh, don't worry, you won't be the star attraction this time. No, consider it more a behind-the-scenes peek, huh? At the irritating little rottweiler you've seen fit to send for me and my men."

If he thought there was any point, he might have argued that he hadn't sent anyone. But he had, in his own way, and anyway… this bastard already knew he was weak and useless, why claim ignorance over another cowardly tactic?

"What the fuck have you done to him?"

"Nothing. Yet." The man's tone turned brusque. "There's an old office block near Uguisudani station. Ten o'clock, Heiwajima-san. You should come. It'll be good for you to see what kind of person Izaya Orihara really is, don't you think?"

And he could have laughed, because he'd been fucking stupid enough to think he _didn't_ know who Izaya was. If this asshole thought anything about the flea could shock Shizuo anymore, then maybe he _was _a goddamn idiot.

For a long moment he just stared at the phone after the line went dead, fingers grinding into the plastic until the material didn't even feel solid or substantial under his touch anymore and the numbers on the keypad blurred.

He needed to call the flea. To warn him, to…

_Yeah. And since when the fuck has he ever listened to you?_

Closing the phone, he stared at the fist that curled around it. Once, he'd have thought that would work where talking hadn't, but he was just as pathetic at that as he was at everything else. Izaya wasn't going to change his mind. Izaya wasn't going to _change_, period, and damn it he was done living looking over his shoulder.

The flea knew the risks he was taking, right? He knew what he was dealing with. And he'd known, he _must _have known, that trying to 'fix' Shizuo was as good as plucking the thorn out of the paw of some wild animal; it wasn't gonna hang around to thank you after.

Shoving the phone in his pocket, Shizuo took a long, shaky breath before continuing on towards Shinra's place.

_I asked you not to do this shit, and you did anyway. Deal with your own shit, flea._

* * *

><p>His initial opinion of Ueno had been right; it was a dive.<p>

The address Takahashi gave him was on the east side of the railway line, so there was no chance of retreading the steps he'd taken with Shizuo. There were probably a million places in Tokyo he could find that bore no significance whatsoever, countless alleyways punctuated by puddles and chain link fences that weren't haunted by the lingering ghosts. When all this was over and done with, he might have the inclination to seek them out.

Hands in his pockets, Izaya strolled along a street lined with bare skeletal trees and smiled up at the suitable grey skies. He'd never admit that a brute like Shizu-chan could teach him anything, but if he had…

_Well. Perhaps my monster to human ratio was a little skewed, ne? It's not my fault when some of them have far more convincing masks than you._

It wouldn't change anything. He still loved his humans in that calmly beatific way, loved them because of their endlessly enthralling flaws and the core of utterly self-absorbed darkness they called a 'heart' or a 'soul'. He knew they were liars and hypocrites, unable to make it through a day without lying to strangers, their friends, their loved ones, _themselves_. Their capacity for self-preservation at any cost almost eclipsed his own. They were cruel, and thoughtless, and deluded, and every time he thought about them he felt like laughing out loud and twirling in happy circles as if he'd just been given the best Christmas present in the universe and his heart's desire all rolled into one.

He failed to see how loving a monster affected that in the slightest. It was as silly as saying that just because he liked ootoro, he wasn't permitted to like the colour red. Two entirely separate things had absolutely no bearing on each other.

Ah, if it was even love. Maybe Shizu-chan was right, and he was only conflating the desire to monopolize, to possess and protect and know without a doubt that he was the _only_ thing in that bleached blond head with such a flimsy label as love. Now and then, he suspected he only threw it around with such abandon because it was one of those words - along with other four-letter curses - that had simply lost its power from overuse. Humans loved _everything_, from Sunday mornings to their best friend's new haircut. How was he supposed to apply that sort of term to Shizu-chan?

Or to an existence that had led him here, stepping into an abandoned building in the backstreets of Ueno with a gun tucked into the back of his jeans under his coat and only the sheer absurdity of the concept he might actually _lose _to convince him he'd walk back out again.

Of course he would. Gods and monsters, right? And after all, the flipside of benevolent love was deserved punishment.

His footsteps echoed through cavernous, hollow halls as he made his way from one floor to the next. Every room was vast and empty, the damp detritus of old faded documents slipping a little underfoot. A few of the windows were busted, and the evening air whistled through the missing-teeth gaps, ruffling his hair with icy fingers now and then. Clearly Takahashi had a flair for the theatric. Or maybe it was just a yakuza predilection. No one ever conducted this sort of show down in family restaurants, did they? He chuckled softly to himself when he stepped onto the top floor only to be greeted with another empty open plan office, not even the leftovers of a stray cubicle for Takahashi to hide behind.

_Don't tell me you chose the rooftop, Takahashi-san? How terribly cliché…_

And how terribly familiar. Obviously Takahashi's homework hadn't been thorough enough for him to learn that there were few places Izaya felt more comfortable than up high, overseeing his world. He took a deep cleansing breath that tasted of smoke and gasoline and city streets as he stepped out onto the rain-slick roof, freeing his hands from his pockets. The only weapons in there were his knife and his phone, and he had a hunch neither would serve him very well.

The building only housed three floors. It was possible a drop from this sort of height wouldn't be enough to kill a person. That must have been how the man on the other side of the rooftop could lounge so leisurely against the rickety railings, far less uptight than the underling Shiki had sent him to deliver the gun.

"Punctual. I admire that trait in a man."

"Ah, really?" Izaya smiled, sauntering closer. "But further down the list than forcibly compliant, frightened, and ideally under sixteen, ne?"

Takahashi shrugged. "Of course, things have an order of priority."

The photographs he had were pretty misleading, he decided. In person, Takahashi looked a little more polished, blandly handsome rather than thuggish. Still entirely nondescript, though. The sort of man no one would remember wandering through this neighbourhood, as opposed to a man skipping around in a fur trimmed coat.

"You know, if all you wanted was to chat I have a perfectly comfortable and functional office. I'm sure you know where it is by now."

"And give you an advantage of territory? No. Besides, I conduct business face to face. Well…" Takahashi sent him a knowing smile. "Close enough. Heiwajima-san is pretty to look at from several angles, don't you think?"

Izaya felt his face long to form a scowl, but schooled it to indifferent neutrality instead. "I suppose. If you like that sort of thing."

"I wish I could say it was a bit of a stretch to imagine you _would_, but…" Takahashi waved a hand Izaya's way, snorting a condescending scoff. "Now I see what they meant. Kei tells me the two of you were pretty cosy yesterday. Well, he tried, you boyfriend left his ribs a little bruised. Nice of him to defend you like that, isn't it? Kei made it sound very… gallant."

He was still kicking himself for falling for the sort of ruse that was effective in its simplicity. He'd never even cared what became of the kid, just assessed and dismissed him as useless and harmless. Either way, Izaya was beginning to realize that perhaps Shizuo's downfall hadn't been entirely down to his inherent gullibility; this guy did play a decent game.

Too bad it ended here.

"I should have let him smash your little pet's skull into the wall," he said, eyes half closing in the sheer satisfaction of imagining it. Che, Shizu-chan's monstrous sixth-sense had been right about Kei, too. It really was too annoying... "Is he the one you had call the restaurant?"

"After I, well… persuaded Nishimura to go through with his threat." Takahashi smiled easily. "Poor guy hadn't slept in about a week, so he was pretty open to suggestion, if you know what I mean. It was always easier having Kei keep an eye on you, when I realized you have a habit of overlooking things that are right under your nose."

"Ah, Takahashi-san…" Izaya couldn't help chuckling. "You don't know how right you are."

"But…" Takahashi pretended to peer around the rooftop. "You're here alone. So I'm guessing loverboy isn't very pleased with you, is he?" Making a face, he put on a stern voice. "It's ten o'clock; do you know where your Heiwajima-san is? Or maybe it's 'hot, tight fucktoy', whatever works for you…"

Feigning boredom, Izaya sighed. "If it's ten o'clock, I'd like to know why you called me here to waste my time." Flicking back the his coat, he slid his hands into his back pockets as he shrugged, feeling the metal of the gun shift against the base of his spine, warm from the heat of his body despite the fact he felt like ice.

"Because if I have a failing, Orihara-san, it's that I get curious. And I like the challenge of turning adversity to my benefit. I have to admit, it's been fun, watching you on your crusade. I could always use such a resourceful man.

"Sorry." Izaya shook his head. "I'm quite choosy when it comes to my client list."

Takahashi nodded. "Assuming what I was giving you here is a choice."

Izaya laughed. "Is that what this is? What will you do if I refuse, reveal everything I've done to the police? Worse, to your group? To every yakuza group in Tokyo? Do you honestly think any of that matters to me?"

"Maybe not." Takahashi agreed. "But like I said… where _is _Heiwajima-san tonight? Not with you, obviously. Kei said he left Nishimura's resting place in a hurry, and without you." A mock pout. "Did you two fall out? Awww. Sorry."

"If you really did do your homework, then I'm sure you can understand my only interest in Shizuo Heiwajima was how to destroy him. I'm insulted by the suggestion I might have wanted to help him. Don't you know, Takahashi-san? He's a monster. And I don't have time for monsters."

"Oh?" Maybe it was his imagination, an illusion brought on by two parts cockiness and one part trying to ignore the bitter taste of those words in his mouth, but Izaya thought there was a hitch of genuine puzzlement in Takahashi's voice. "Then why would you go to these lengths? Why would you involve yourself in something that had nothing to do with you?"

It was odd, hearing the same thing he'd been asking himself over and over for the past few weeks coming from the mouth of the one who'd been the catalyst for it in the first place.

He still didn't have an answer he liked. He still didn't have an answer he could live with. But…

"Ah, but I never said it had nothing to do with me, ne? Tell me, Takahashi-san… are you familiar with the theory of irresistible force?"

Takahashi leaned against the railings, the tails of his suit jacket flapping softly in the breeze, the very picture of relaxation as he shrugged. "Enlighten me, Orihara-san."

"Simply put, it's the paradox of what might happen if an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object. Do they destroy each other, _negate_ each other, because it's physically impossible for both such powers to co-exist in the same universe? Or are they both, by dint of their very nature, indestructible, and that one is necessary to prove, to define, to _validate _the existence of the other? You see, that was me and Shizu-chan." Izaya tilted his head thoughtfully. "He'd be the immovable object, I think…"

"We're going to have to disagree there." Takahashi smiled an ugly smile. "He seemed pretty easily moved to me. Maybe you've just been doing it wrong."

Brushing off the oily innuendo, Izaya went on. "Anyway, thanks to you I realized it was the latter. So by damaging something _necessary _to me, you might as well have picked a fight with me directly."

Takahashi laughed, the sound echoing off the damp concrete until it felt as if he was enveloped in it. "You're telling me this whole thing is 'cause I stole your toys? And you can stand there and insinuate that _my _priorities are messed up…"

"Not my toy, Takahashi-san." Izaya shook his head, withdrawing the gun. It was quite the novel experience, holding it out at arms length, aimed at… well, no, this man had relented his claim on the title of 'Izaya Orihara's beloved human' the moment he laid a finger on Shizu-chan. This was as emotionless as shooting fish in a bucket. Izaya didn't think he'd mind so much seeing this bastard's cold, lifeless eyes staring at him. "My very _favourite _toy. And you didn't so much steal as you broke, which is a very rude thing to do to other people's things. Especially without asking first."

"If I had," Takahashi didn't seem very surprised at the gun, "what would your answer have been?"

He doubted either of the missed his split second's hesitation. Ignoring the small smile playing on Takahashi's lips, he shrugged. "I'm afraid I'd have to politely decline."

"I see. So I'm guessing your answer to my proposal is no?"

Izaya clicked off the safety, vaguely galled that he'd needed to look it up online to figure out how. Well, it wasn't as though he had the time to visit the shooting range or obtain a license in the past few hours. For all his clients had the occasional cache to shift, guns were unfamiliar and clumsy compared to knives. Impersonal. What was the fun in watching someone's reactions if you could be a hundred feet away?

"You're not all that convincing," he said. "Which is strange, because everyone made you out to be good at it. Maybe you've just been doing it wrong, ne?"

"Still think you can play me, huh? You really are a little boy playing in the big pool, aren't you?" Takahashi sighed, reaching into the back of his jacket for his own weapon. Izaya made a face; of course Shiki-san wouldn't provide him with anything that looked that intimidating. "Not my type though, unfortunately. I like them at least a bit intelligent. Do you honestly think I'd come to meetings like this unarmed? Or alone, for that matter."

"No," Izaya smiled, tilting his head. "You do seem to be more comfortable in groups, ne, Takahashi-san."

"I'm not arrogant enough to claim I don't need back-up, if that's what you're implying. Though I could have chosen _better _back-up in the past…" Takahashi checked the gun over with scrutinizing care, before raising it. Only it wasn't aimed at Izaya. It was aimed at the door behind him, jerking it lazily from side to side in an almost 'come hither' gesture. "Anyway, that's why I invited some over for you, too."

"What?"

"You might as well join the party, Heiwajima-san."

Izaya barked a laugh, fighting the shiver that teased its way down his spine at the implausible likelihood of _that_. Really, he couldn't think of two people Shizuo would want to be around _less_.

"Ne, you really think I'd fall for something like that, Takahashi-san?" He shook his head. "Nice try, but—"

_But. _But slow, reluctant footsteps tapped their way along the metal walkway and the half dozen steps down to the rooftop. Izaya refused to turn around. It was just some ruse, an attempt to divert him so this coward of a man could shoot him in the back the second his attention wavered. Because Shizuo wouldn't—

"The fuck are you doing, flea…?" The shaky, gravely question came from about ten feet behind him, but it might as well have been whispering intimately in his ear. The solid roof under his feet turned into an ocean swell, rocking and swaying, as the shivering returned with a battalion of reinforcements. His fingers slipped a little on the gun as he forced a smile.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that, Shizu-chan? Did you follow me?" Because as forgivable as that was to think he could forgo that little concern in this case, he still wouldn't be able to do it if he was the reason Shizuo had found himself here.

He heard a soft shuffle as Shizuo shook his head. "Didn't have to."

"I told you." Takahashi sounded almost put out that Izaya would think this had been Shizuo's idea. "I invited him. Saves me the trouble of tracking him down later."

"Oh? Back-up or not, Takahashi-san, I really have to question your judgement if you're stupid enough to try taking us both on."

"I did consider that," Takahashi nodded amiably. "But you're no big deal, and, well… look at him. He's not exactly the big strong hero anymore, is he?"

Shizuo still hadn't moved from the spot where he'd halted. There might as well have been a glass wall between them, keeping the blond from getting any closer. From getting in the _way_, and if someone as obnoxiously selfless and recklessly headstrong as Shizuo Heiwajima hadn't thrown himself between Izaya and a bullet by now in some show of careless, ill-judged valour, he supposed he had to agree with Takahashi. But whether Shizuo held back out of fear, or simply because he'd be pretty happy at this point to see Izaya take a bullet to the brain, he couldn't tell yet.

And if he was honest, he didn't know which one he'd have preferred.

"Didn't I explain well enough?" he asked, faltering a little at the realization that Shizu-chan had probably heard all that too. He'd heard Izaya declare how necessary he was to his existence to anyone who was within earshot. "This is between me and you now, ne? It has nothing to do with him."

He heard Shizuo murmur "…the fuck?" under his breath as Takahashi cocked his head, looking amused.

"Nothing to do with him? But you're the one who made it that way, aren't you?"

Izaya's grip on the gun tightened, eyes narrowing in a glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you want to know something funny?" Takahashi smiled, but not at him. In peripheral vision Izaya saw the slashes of white that delineated where Shizuo began and the shadows ended shiver like heat on summer asphalt. "I really didn't care. Some kid gets in my way, we have some fun, teach him a lesson he's not likely to forget so he thinks twice before doing it again, and we all move on. No big drama. Seriously, Nishimura came over to bitch about how the drugs weren't working as well on his new guinea pigs as they had on 'that tight piece of ass', and I had to stop and try to remember who he meant. That's how much of a shit I gave about either of you. But then you stepped in." Takahashi's attention zeroed back to Izaya. "And honestly… I'm glad it was him I fucked until he was crying like a little girl. I'm glad, because the only thing better than bringing some supposed tough guy to his knees is bringing down a brat like you."

Behind him, he heard Shizuo take one hesitant step closer. "Oi. We need to get the fuck out of here, _now_…"

"What, and waste all my hard work?" Izaya laughed, a little too loud. "You might be able to throw things away whenever you feel like it, Shizu-chan, but I value my effort a little more highly than that."

"I know you do. That's the fucking problem. You've always given more of a shit about this than…" With an exasperated huff of breath that shuddered at its edges, he felt the shift of displaced heat as Shizuo backed off again, pacing off to the side enough that Izaya could just see him without needing to turn his head. Maybe that was the intention. "If you meant _any _of that shit, then stop. I don't want this."

"You should listen to him, Orihara-san." Takahashi nodded sagely. "Even if you shoot me, what are you going to accomplish? My men won't let either of you leave the building alive." On cue, several cars screeched to a halt in the wasteland parking out behind Takahashi, headlights casting him in a dark silhouette.

"And you will?"

"If you agree to my terms."

"I told you before, ne? Not interested."

"Suit yourself…" Takahashi laughed, shrugging. "As long as the two of you are out of my hair, then that's all I care about."

Why the hell wasn't Shizu-chan _doing_ anything? He was _here_, wasn't he? Even if he'd come to stop Izaya, he was still here, still within fifty feet of the man who'd orchestrated his trauma. Whatever conviction might have brought him here tonight, it must have drowned out the fear, if only for a moment.

_Remember Ueno, Shizu-chan. _Remember the man in the distorted street mirror who'd chased him with the same single-minded ferocity Izaya had sought out since that day on the Raijin playing field.

_Remember that loser Satou, Shizu-chan._ Remember the way he could have run away, could have backed off the second he laid eyes on Satou. Remember the way he _hadn't_, remember the way he'd given chase because that's what stupidly honest monsters _did_, with the same violently pure righteousness that had _pissed Izaya off _since that day on the Raijin playing field.

_Remember everything we did, Shizu-chan…_Remember all those small victories that had been so simple, so easy as to slip Shizuo's notice most of the time.

Only Shizuo wouldn't do any of that, and it wasn't Izaya's fault, it was the fault of the asshole standing in front of him, smirking. Breathing hard, Izaya felt a trickle of cool sweat track its way slowly down the side of his face, tickling his jaw as he swallowed, shaking his head.

"No. You're the one who's not walking away tonight."

"Oh?" Takahashi laughed softly, holding out his own gun with one hand, an easy grip that wasn't wavering anywhere near as much as Izaya's. "Do you think you can? Do you have it in you to take a life, Orihara-san? Directly, I mean, not with your roundabout machinations."

Blinking to clear his vision, Izaya made his lips curl in a feral sneer that didn't quite belong to him.

"Only one way to find out, ne?"

Except he couldn't. Because damn it to every hell imaginable, Shizu-chan's eyes were on him, and even if he couldn't turn to look at them he knew they'd be angry, and accusatory, and utterly betrayed, and all those things he used to want. All those things he came so close to causing himself, time and again. All those things he'd come to realize he _hated _seeing reflected in those eyes. Hated it enough to wind up here.

_You do want this, Shizu-chan. You have to. You _have _to, because I don't know any other way…_

Taking leisurely steps closer, Takahashi arched a brow.

"Thought as much,. When it comes down to it, you can't, can you? All your love for humans, all your fake little bravado… it's easy when you're not face to face, huh? When you're killing my friends off from behind a desk or the other end of a telephone."

Izaya couldn't breathe. Panic clutched tight at his throat, severing any connection between the brain screaming at him to pull the trigger and the finger curving against the gun. The thing in his hands didn't even feel like a weapon anymore, useless and ineffectual, and he was of half a mind to throw it instead of shoot it.

"Anyway," Takahashi said thoughtfully, "I don't like your chances in getting to me before I get to him." A malicious smile curved his lips. "Again."

"Shut up…"

"Ah, is _that _what all this is about?" Takahashi shook his head. "That I got to him first? So it's less avenging angel as jealous boyfriend?"

"I said shut up!"

"Then do it, Orihara-san." Despite his thinly veiled threats, it was him in Takahashi's sights as he raised the gun, amusement fading from a hard, cool stare. "Or maybe you're just not as invested as you think you are, huh?"

Either from concentration or the lack of oxygen, black lights flickered at the edges of Izaya's vision as he tried to focus. "I am…" Wiping one hand over his eyes, he took a breath as he aimed the gun. "This is _everything_…"

"Huh." Takahashi laughed. "Cute. Too bad it doesn't count for anything."

"Who the fuck says it doesn't…?"

Both he and Takahashi seemed to have forgotten all about the biggest mistake either of them ever made. As still as he stood, and as dark as Izaya's tunnel vision was getting, he could barely make Shizuo out anymore, just knew that low, tremble of a growl came from somewhere off to his left.

"Well, you can't be worth much to him if he can't even deliver the final blow, now can you?"

And Takahashi was right. Izaya knew that. If any of this meant anything, then he wouldn't be hesitating, he wouldn't be so fucking _afraid _of doing the wrong thing. He was Izaya Orihara. The wrong thing was sort of his speciality.

"Nah, maybe he can't…" From the corner of his eye, he watched Shizuo nod, head bowed.

Over the years, Izaya had learned the hard way not to underestimate how damn fast the inelegant brute could be when he put his mind to it. Shizuo was always about power over grace, but sometimes there was no difference.

And maybe Takahashi hadn't underestimated him before. Maybe when he'd struck on the one button guaranteed to make Shizu-chan react to lure him into this mess in the first place, he'd just gotten lucky.

This time, Takahashi barely had time to swing the gun towards the moving target Shizuo made as he lunged towards him, incendiary fury raging in his eyes, and a breathtakingly animalistic tension to the muscles bunching under his shirt as he drew one fist back, landing a bone-crunching punch right into the middle of the yakuza's face.

Izaya could only watch as Shizuo, breathing hard and ragged, stared dispassionately at Takahashi's crumpled form, and said;

"But I can."

* * *

><p>Punching someone hadn't hurt for a very long time. His fists had been one of the first things to stop feeling pain from the things he inflicted on his body. He didn't like to think about it much, because it'd usually end up with him wondering what'd happen if, some day, he'd feel so little when he hit that he'd just keep doing it, his hands and his anger too numb to know when to quit.<p>

And maybe he was numb _now_, but not in the way he'd always expected.

He was out of practice, he figured, flexing barely bruised knuckles, staring at his trembling hands to keep his gaze from wandering anywhere else. He hadn't smashed anyone's face in for so long, his body had started to forget the feeling.

It had nothing to do with the sinuous little whisper in the back of his mind, the one that sounded so fucking _sated _as it murmured 'there, now doesn't that feel better?'

No. It really didn't. Because that'd mean he'd been wrong all along, and Izaya had been right, and he really _didn't _know who either of them were anymore.

Besides… something he couldn't define had just shifted the second he stepped out onto the rooftop to see Izaya aiming a gun at this bastard. He'd spent so fucking long today psyching himself up for this, talking himself into and out of coming in equal measure that he'd expected the focus to be on the fear. He'd expected it would paralyze him, take him over to the exclusion of anything else.

And it had, but that wasn't the fear he'd expected either.

Fuck it, the only thing that had been on his mind was getting the damn flea to stop. There were some lines even they couldn't ever - wouldn't ever - cross. Living with his suspicions were one thing. The little part of him that had always been good at convincing him of shit would eventually have made him wonder enough to _doubt_. Maybe he'd forget, in the end, the things he'd said or the things he'd done, and he'd forget about all the chances he might have had to say or do something _different_, something that wouldn't have shoved Izaya off the deep end like this.

And there was always that one percent, right…?

But tonight, Izaya had taken that one percent and laughed at everything Shizuo wanted, everything he fucking _begged _for, while he trampled it into the ground.

"Shizu-chan…" Dropping the gun he'd been aiming warily at the bastard on the floor like someone could just shake off a punch like that, Izaya took a step closer.

"Don't." Shaking his head, Shizuo backed up, maintaining the distance. "I can't… I don't even wanna fucking _look _at you right now."

"But it's over." Izaya persisted. "Do you even realize what you just _did_?"

"I don't give a shit about what I did." And he really didn't want reminding. The dull ache in his knuckles was enough. "Fact is none of this-" He waved a shaky hand around the rooftop "-should have fucking happened at all! And don't give me the bullcrap you just spewed for him, about this somehow being 'your' fight. You didn't do this for me, you did it for you."

"Because you're mine," Izaya stared up at him, fury shimmering in his eyes. "And they took you away from me."

"Is that what you think?" Fuck his breath for hitching when he'd tried to laugh it off. Fuck Izaya for looking at him with that expression on his face. "And what if you can never have that back, what then, huh? What if this is how it is? The fuck are you even _thinking _when you believe doing shit like this changes anything?"

"It _did_ change things! Look at yourself! Look at where you are, what you just did…" Izaya's hands clenched into frustrated fists as he took a breath, releasing it slowly. "That was _you_, ne? That was the you I've always known. That wasn't a you who was afraid."

"Not…" Shizuo shook his head. "Fuck it, flea, I'm _always _fricking afraid. That had nothing to do with them."

"Shizuo…"

"You just don't get it, do you? Since when the hell have we been about this, since when has this been okay? You've been so damn focused on them, you stopped giving a shit what it's doing to us. This isn't winning, this is just dragging you down, turning you into something else. Just like they did to me."

"I don't care! Do you think sitting back and watching wasn't doing the same thing?"

"Fuck it, _I_ care! I know that doesn't mean a fucking thing to you, but _I _care. When it was just me, I… I never wanted this. How is that so fucking hard for you to understand? I never wanted anyone else hurt because of this."

"Hurt?" Izaya laughed. "Take a good look, Shizu-chan, I'm fine."

"Aren't you the one who told me there's more than one way to hurt? They're not hurting anymore. They're dead. The only ones still paying for this are me and you. And it was never meant to be your price to pay."

"Ah, Shizu-chan, it became my price to pay the second they chose you."

All he could blame for the words that spilled out of his mouth then was the sheer certainty in Izaya's voice. Like the crazy shit he was spouting made perfect sense. Like there was no other way their world, their lives, could ever have played out. But then, it had all been Izaya's game from the start.

"And you really expect me to think you give a shit _now? _You're no different to them."

"What?" Izaya backed up like Shizuo had just punched him, too. "How can you even say that, I'm nothing like—"

"I said 'don't' and you did it anyway." Shizuo felt his mouth tug in a bitter smile. He had no idea why. None of this was that funny. "Seems pretty much the same thing to me."

"But it was all for you, can't you see that?"

"You know you say that, but it's not true."

"Shizu-chan…"

"Cause if it was, you'd know how it feels hearing you say something like that." He scrubbed his hands roughly over his face, barely feeling it. Nothing felt all that real. _He _didn't feel all that real, and likely with good reason; he'd been nothing but a pawn in another of Izaya's schemes for a long fucking time… "I don't know if I'd ever have been able to forget. But this… if you wanted to make damn fucking sure I never could, then hey, congrats. Job well done. I can't even… how the fuck do you expect me to look you in the eye knowing what you've done, and knowing I'm the reason for it?"

"Excuse me? I chose to do this."

"Yeah. Something you never would have done if it wasn't for me. If it wasn't for…"

"The fact that I love you?"

He wheeled around, hands threading into his hair. Izaya had no fucking right to be saying shit like that _now_. No fucking right to say that word in that calm, reasonable voice, like it was the most obvious fricking thing in the world, instead of the _worst _thing in the world. 'Cause if that was true, then it was turning a goddamn disaster into a fucking tragedy.

"You know, I was right about that the first time." He shook his head, looking away when those shadowed red eyes proved too intense for him. "You have no idea what that word means."

"I don't?" Izaya laughed bitterly. "So it's not about doing everything in your power to keep that person safe, to stop them hurting, to destroy everything that hurts them? No… maybe you're right, Shizu-chan. This goes _much _deeper than that, ne?"

It might have, once. That was probably the most fucked up part of all. Instead of answering, he turned for the stairs, stumbling to a halt at the sight of Izaya's discarded gun on the floor.

_It'd be better for both of us that it didn't, flea… 'cause you're a sly fucking idiot, but you're not about _this.

"You know, I wasn't even gonna come here. I was gonna let you deal with all the shit you brought on yourself."

"What changed your mind?"

Remembering changed his mind. All those touches, and those expressions, and the way he could sometimes just close his eyes and listen to the flea ramble about something pseudo-intellectual that mostly went over his head but made him feel calm, feel _safe_ anyway. He remembered a different rooftop, he remembered running through city streets, he remembered that kiss in the bathroom and waiting for Izaya to sulk back home that night _knowing _what he was starting by staying. He remembered apologies from a dirty, dusty flea, he remembered ragged fingers from the day Izaya found his phone. He remembered yesterday morning, and thinking "maybe".

"Dunno…" Reaching down, he picked up the gun. It felt heavier than they looked when you saw people firing them on TV. "Cause I thought I knew who I was coming _for_. But that ain't the person I saw, flea. And I can't-" _love_"-be with someone who does something like that."

The world went very quiet. All he could hear was the remarkably steady rise and fall of his breathing, and the distant symphony of the city; a car honked, a train whistled, lights flickered on and off in far-away buildings like they were choreographed to match.

He didn't flinch when slender arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Shivering at the heat of Izaya's breath between his shoulder blades, he held himself very still until the flea nodded once, and let go, fingers grazing his shirt as they lingered, then disappeared altogether.

"I understand."

Shizuo nodded, staring at the ground. "Okay. I just thought..."

"It doesn't matter, Shizu-chan. You're right, I knew what I was doing, so—"

"What's this…?" A groggy voice that wasn't Izaya's jangled through Shizuo's nerves, raising his hackles so fast it made him dizzy. He spun around to see Takahashi staggering as he stood, gaze completely unfocused. Grinning an ugly, mashed-up smile that made his broken nose bleed worse, he teetered on his feet as he lifted the gun again, the barrel waving carelessly around like the bastard didn't care anymore which one of them he hit first. If he ever had. "A lover's tiff? So cute."

And he knew when Takahashi raised the gun towards Izaya again, he wasn't going to hesitate this time. Surprise only happened once, right? And Shizuo had pretty much used up all of his twisted luck and unconscious effort last time.

Funny how the weirdest shit came to your head when you were too fucking terrified to move. Of all the things he could have, should have been thinking about, there was just a prissy flea in his head, hands folded across a scrawny chest as he looked Shizuo in the eye and said "If you're asking me to place a value on him in comparison to you, then you won't like my answer, Shizu-chan."

He hadn't even wanted to know what it was at the time.

But he knew now. And it was that knowledge that made his fingers tighten automatically on Izaya's gun, hands incomprehensibly steady as he aimed at Takahashi's chest and pulled the trigger.

Gunshots were louder than they seemed on television too. It still echoed in his head as Takahashi stumbled back, staring at him with sheer indignation on his face, twisting his own aim towards Shizuo even as he fell back to the rooftop.

"No…!"

He wanted to yell "Get out of the goddamn way, flea!" because damn it, Izaya was blocking his view and he needed to make sure Takahashi never got to shoot back. And that sound in his head was still the echo, right? It wasn't because the second shot reverberated into the first, the whole thing loud and off-key and grating enough to make his head hurt.

But Izaya never did anything Shizuo wanted him to.

He watched the flea's eyes go wide as that body he'd always _known _was too fricking fragile jerked at some unseen impact. It was hard to see on the black-on-black outfit, but a darkly slick puddle slowly emerged low on the flea's right side, and when a shaky, pale hand pressed against it, bright red bloomed through tan fur, spilling over white skin and silver metal.

Over Izaya's shoulder, he could see Takahashi slump to the floor, the gun skittering out of his limp hand. It only occurred to him a second too late that the only reason he _could _see over Izaya's shoulder was that the flea did the same damn thing.

Shizuo caught him before he hit the ground, something hot and wet seeping uncomfortably into his shirt, and something was _still _screaming in his head as he tried to focus on Izaya's face.

"…Flea?"

Fuck it, he should be doing something. Pressure on the wound or something. Shit Shinra would have known, but Shizuo, by dint of never _needing _the same precautions as normal people, hadn't paid attention to. Izaya moaned softly as he yanked the flea's coat off for want of anything else to pad up and press against the wound.

"S'okay," he nodded shakily. "S'gonna be fine. Gonna get you to Shinra, yeah? He can fix this, no problem..."

Even if he had no fucking idea how he was going to get them out of the damn building, if this Takahashi bastard's underlings really were crawling around outside.

Didn't matter.

The hand that reached up to touch his cheek was already cool and clammy, sticky with blood and trembling so hard it almost fluttered like wings on his skin.

"Mmm…" Izaya nodded, closing his eyes, a stupidly _pleased _smile on his face. "Is he…?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he's… it's done."

"Good." Dark lashes shivered as those red eyes cracked open drowsily, and for a moment Shizuo could believe they weren't on some rooftop with the flea bleeding out on his lap, but that this was another sated morning-after, when he hadn't made mistakes and hadn't driven Izaya to this in the first place. "Are you…" The flea hissed in a breath as the smallest shift of his body must have hurt, sweat beading on his brow. "Are you…?"

Hurt? Happy? Forgiven?

"No…" He shook his head. "No it's not… flea, _please_, just…"

"Yes, it is." Izaya sounded far too fricking vehement for his liking. He caught the hand that slipped from his cheek as the flea smiled again, eyes closing as the silence closed in on them again. "That means it was all worth it, Shizu-chan."


	23. Chapter 23

**_**Originally posted at the Drrr Kinkmeme (update parts 191 - 206)**_**

**A/N:** Aaaaand, with this you're all caught up to what's on the meme!

As always, thank you guys for the feedback, be it reviews or messages *hearts*

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender<span>

Chapter Twenty Three_  
><em>

_There's a rooftop, and the unsettling symphony of the city for background noise. It must have been raining; his clothes feel wet. And it's cold, the sort of chill that could cut through armour and slice its way down to his bones._

_He's shivering, but Shizuo seems perfectly relaxed. Leaning against fragile railings, the blond lingers casually on a cigarette, the toe of his shoe tapping a tune Izaya doesn't recognize on the dark-stained rooftop. Instinctively, he expects every footfall to splash wetly, but there's just the soft scrape of worn leather on gritty concrete, a noise that grates on every nerve._

_Shizuo hasn't noticed he's watching. That, or he's just not paying attention. Whenever he looks up, it's with a distant expression in his eyes that stares through Izaya as though he wasn't there._

_He hates that. He's always hated that. And so he finds himself speaking just to get Shizuo's attention._

_"Shizu-chan."_

_The blond's gaze focuses on him, reluctantly, but it's still vacant. Empty. As though he's looking at something he doesn't want to see._

_"If I'm the immovable object," Shizuo says, blowing out a ribbon of smoke that obscures his face momentarily, smoke that stings Izaya's eyes more than he remembers, "then that makes you the unstoppable force, huh flea?"_

_Izaya can't remember why that topic might have come about. It's certainly a little too intellectual for a protozoan to dream up all by himself, so he supposes Shizuo must have heard it from him even if he can't quite recall when._

_"Well, that sounds about right, ne?" He shoves his hands in his pockets, but his coat must have been out in the rain because it feels cold and clammy to the touch. Withdrawing them, he wraps them around himself instead to ward off the cold. He doesn't feel particularly unstoppable right now. He feels as though the slightest breeze would be enough to make him crumble. "I'm the one who does what needs to be done."_

_"The unstoppable force," Shizuo watches the ash accumulate at the ember tip of his cigarette, "who never stopped, even when I asked him to."_

_Barking a laugh, one that hurts for no good reason, Izaya shrugs. That hurts too. "Is this going to be 'you're as bad as them' again, Shizu-chan?"_

_Even if he doesn't remember who 'they' are. He just knows, as sure as he does that rain falls down and vending machines fly up, that he's nothing like them. He's not. It doesn't matter what Shizuo believes. He did the right thing, for once. He did the unfamiliar, the foreign, the strange. And a part of him still tells him he should never have ventured so far off course. There had been a plan, once. He would have done better to stick to it. Deviations lead to disaster. He doesn't like deviation. He doesn't like unpredictable. There is the World According to Izaya Orihara, and that's all there is to it._

_He's not sure_ what _this world is. There should be lights. People. A city, beyond these crayon-scrawled boundaries that seem to ebb and flow the harder he tries to demarcate them. But he can't see that far. Anything a little beyond Shizuo is a vague haze, like a storm on plate glass that turns his apartment into a ghostly underwater landscape. That's important too, but his mind refuses to make the connections why._

_"You are," Shizuo says. "No. Y'know what, you're_ worse. _They never claimed they loved me."_

_Ah. Now that he remembers._

_"What part pissed you off the most?" Shizuo looks up at him with a smile that never touches his eyes. "That they broke me first or that they fucked me first?"_

_"Neither." Izaya shakes his head. "Because you're not broken, Shizu-chan. Not anymore."_

_That's been the whole point, ne? And he's succeeded; now the only threat left is him._

_"Heh… I've been broken long before the day we met, flea. So I guess you've been shit outta luck the whole time, huh?"_

_"Ah, but you're assuming that's all I ever wanted."_

_"Isn't it?" There's a curled sneer to Shizuo's mouth that doesn't sit right on his face. Something about the expression is far more comparable to the sort of thing Izaya's used to seeing in the mirror. "But that's all you're interested in, right? All you want, all I'm good for…" The sidelong smile is dark, self-aware in a way he's never seen Shizuo before, and he wonders if fixing Shizu-chan means this is what's been left in his place. "We were probably a good fit, huh?"_

_"But you're the one who walked away." Izaya frowns, a fleeting image of a retreating back drifting through his memories. He shivers again, though where the icy wind is coming from is anyone's guess; nothing's ruffling Shizuo's hair or his shirt, the smoke wafting from his cigarette rising in untroubled streams. "Ah, but what can I tell you if you keep insisting you can't the way you've changed. The way you're you again."_

_"No…!"_

_He flinches at the abrupt cry, hurting again, a dry rasping cough catching in his throat. It's funny how Shizuo's still looking through him, even as something shifts in his eyes and what was once distant is now desperate, terrified. Funny strange, not funny 'ha ha', although he thinks once upon a time he might have laughed himself stupid at the thought of anything making the Fortissimo look scared. Because he_ is ._His eyes are glassy-bright and emptily dull all at once, jaw tense, lips pressed into a grim line.._

_"No…" Shizuo whispers again, the word stifled and strangled and small. "Fuck, Izaya, you can't do this to me, You _can't_."_

_Izaya arches a brow. "What am I doing to you, exactly, Shizu-chan? Only telling you what you need to hear, ne? Only telling you the truth."_

_Is that really bad enough to paint that look of despair on the blond's face?_

_Shizuo shakes his head. "You can't just say shit like that and then… then fuckin_g leave_, goddamn asshole louse…!"_

_"Leave?" Izaya blinks. "But I'm not…"_

_The panic crests over him in a sudden wave. There's an invisible noose wrapping around his neck, turning every breath into a choked-off gasp. Shizuo's image wavers, blurring into the smoke and the haze until he's nothing more than an outline, a spectre, something there then gone. Gone. And it's not the blond doing it, it's him. The pain chases down the heels of the fear; a nauseating pulse of dizziness sends him crashing to his knees. He can't keep his eyes open, but it's so endlessly black when he closes them he's terrified it'll suck him under and never let go._

_And he can't let that happen. Not if Shizuo thinks he's the one leaving. Not if Shizuo thinks it's his fault._

_Not if Shizuo thinks Izaya's as bad as them. Worse than them._

_His lips form the syllables – Shizu-chan – but words need air to come alive and that darkness is creeping at the edges of his vision even with his eyes open… if they are open. He can't tell. That thick cloying black is swallowing him up, seeping into him every time he tries to breathe. He claws at nothing, struggling against a suffocating blanket that just tangles around him, weighs him down the more he fights._

_He should save what breath he has for laughing, he supposes. Laughing at how much of a fool he really was. Because there's no Valhalla, no vanguard of Valkyries riding in to sweep him away to some warrior's paradise. Just cold, and black, and empty and alone._

_No, I can't, I can't, I can't…_

_Shizu-chan… I don't want this. Please… please…!_

"…No!"

He was still gasping for breath long after the ceiling of Shinra's exam room came into focus, body and mind barely speaking the same language let alone on the same page. A muffled voice kept drifting from the grey fog at the edges of his vision, but the simple task of sucking oxygen into his burning lungs occupied his attention too much to bother caring who it was.

Because it wouldn't be Shizuo. Even past the disorientation, and the pain sweeping up the right side of his body, the look on the blond's face that he couldn't distinguish between fantasy and reality said enough.

At least reality said he was alive. Izaya decided the jury was still out as to whether that was a bonus.

His heart lurched at an echo of that deep, silent blackness closed in on him again. No; that would always be something to savour, especially when the alternative wasn't even something his mind wanted to touch. It just skirted the edges, a queasy passenger who didn't quite give in to the morbid curiosity of peering directly at the epic wreck in the other lane. And now the pain lancing through him every time he performed the most basic functions of survival – breathing, blinking, blood pounding through his veins - cheerfully reminded him again how horrifically fragile people really were. No, not 'people'. Him.

Honestly, he couldn't even remember anymore what possessed him to put himself in the line of fire – literally – for Shizu-chan. It really wasn't like him at all. Izaya Orihara's life was far less complicated when he put Izaya Orihara first.

Now that he was no longer sidetracked with the little pet project Shizu-chan became, he might see fit to get back to the important things. Because while he'd been with Shizuo, he'd been far more interested in _this_ life than the one that came after. Or didn't, if that clammy, choking brush was anything to go by, which meant he needed to step up his investigations into alternatives.

He wasn't sure if that was what set off the shudder, or just the realization that he'd almost have allowed that preoccupation to slide if…

_If what? He loved you back? …Exactly_ how _did you get this pathetic, hmm?_

"Take it easy…" Shinra's voice finally cut through the high-pitched ringing in his ears. The loud whoosh of his too-fast pulse faded a little the more he tried to concentrate. "I'm going to get you something for the pain, okay? Try to relax."

This was worse than waking up from stab wounds. As he tried to piece together fragments of memory, uncertain which ones were real and which ones had been part of some miserable coma dream, the pain centered itself somewhere above his right hip. Every time he breathed a little too deeply, everything from the neck down on that side turned to cement. Breathing out hurt marginally less. Holding his breath worked better, but it was hardly practical…

"You've been out for two days," Shinra said, just as something cool and prickly swept up his arm from a pinprick he hadn't even felt. "I know it's asking a lot of you, but try not to push yourself, okay?"

His mouth was too dry to speak until Shinra brought over a glass of water. Grey eyes watched him evenly as he winced just from swallowing.

"Ah, you're not going to tell me you didn't notice you'd been shot, are you?"

Izaya shook his head. No, he knew he'd been shot all right. That or he'd been run over by a truck that had a series of pneumatic drills for wheels. And he knew the only reason he _survived_ being shot was that a dumb protozoan had put Takahashi off his aim.

"Where is he?"

To his credit, Shinra only played it slightly dumb, scratching his cheek absently as he looked away. "Shizuo? I don't know. At home, I guess? He didn't stick around too long after dropping you off. Oh, he said something about trying to get his old job back, I think. Honestly, we didn't know he'd _lost_ it, but that boss of his seems like a reasonable enough guy, don't you think?"

Izaya didn't care. He was still frowning at 'dropping you off.' After everything he'd done for Shizuo, he was nothing more than something to be 'dropped off', like laundry or an unwanted pet.

Maybe the drugs were kicking on, or maybe it really _was _hilariously ironic that nothing had changed, even when everything was different. He could still detest Shizuo Heiwajima's existence and want him desperately without either of those two extremes deviating in the slightest.

"When can I go home?" Still smiling, and, judging by the look on Shinra's face, coming across just about as unhinged as he felt, Izaya welcomed the flare of pain as he leaned back.

"I'd like to keep an eye on you for another few days," Shinra said. "Just to make sure everything's healing up the way it should and that there's no sign of infection. You were lucky. Another couple of inches and you'd have been in serious trouble. And lucky that I'm used to dealing with gunshot wounds, I suppose… " The doctor watched him curiously. "Do I want to know _why_ you were shot?"

Because Shizu-chan was an idiot, intent on clinging onto useless principle and foolish idealism in the face of all the facts. Because the blond must have been a little ring-rusty if a punch only laid out his opponent for ten minutes. Because he hadn't wanted to let Shizuo go.

Ah, but no… if he'd let Shizuo go he'd have been alone on that rooftop when Takahashi took his shot. Izaya couldn't decide whether he'd have been less distracted without having to babysit the blond at the same time, or whether Shizuo managed to distract him to the point of stupidity just by being on the same planet.

"No."

Shinra nodded, checking the IV line. "That's what I thought. Is anyone going to come after you for this?"

Considering Izaya didn't even know how he got from that rooftop to Shinra's apartment, he might not be the best person to ask. Takahashi might be dead – and he was; even if Shizuo's first shot hadn't done the trick, he wouldn't have walked away without making damn sure the bastard wasn't breathing – but what came of his much-vaunted underlings… ah, Izaya had dealt with them before, ne? If that was the best the Wakahisa had to offer, he was fairly confident of his chances.

And he wouldn't need to second guess himself this time, because there'd be no nagging little monster on his shoulder telling him it was all a bad idea.

"No," he said. "It's all over and done."

Shinra seemed to accept that, and Izaya wondered whether, in that brief interlude between dropping him off and getting as far away from him as it was possible to be and remain in the same city, Shizuo had said anything about him.

Of course not. Because that would mean having to own up to the part he'd played in all this. It would mean telling his friends where he'd been all these weeks, and what he'd been doing. And as suspicious and shrewd Shinra and Celty may have been, Izaya doubted very much they'd arrive at the right conclusion this time.

_Why yes, up until three days ago we _were _fucking._ _Although, admittedly, the timeframe for the actual fucking was woefully short-lived, even if it might well have been the longest foreplay in history._

"Okay. Just in case someone does, though, I'm telling you now I'll bargain your ass for mine and Celty's in a second." Shinra smiled, though whether it was as the thought of the dullahan's rear or Izaya getting kicked in his, he couldn't tell. Knowing Shinra, probably both. "Get some more rest, okay?"

"Mmm…" Izaya fobbed it off with a noncommittal murmur. The painkillers were working, the easing of the ache bringing with it a floaty lethargy. Thinking about Shizuo didn't bring the same sort of sting anymore either, his thoughts unable to close the circuit long enough to remember why he could barely picture the blond anymore without seeing that look on his face just before he turned away.

He smiled a little to himself as the chemically induced sleep claimed him again. It was funny how all those necessary lies had pissed Shizuo off so much, when the biggest one Izaya ever told him was "I understand".

* * *

><p>Shinra closed the living room door behind him with a sigh, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he made his way to the couch. If the cigarette smoke bothered him, he didn't say anything, just took a seat, the edges of his white coat flapping open as he did so.<p>

"How's he doing?"

"Not bad. The wound site still looks okay, there's no fever, he's tolerating the antibiotics fine… Oh, and he was actually awake long enough for a conversation this time. He asked about you, by the way. It was pretty much the first thing out of his mouth."

While Shinra stretched back against the cushions with a yawn, Shizuo remained perched on the edge, shoulders hunched, staring at the hands he held tensely between his knees.

Of course he would. Izaya was nothing if not a master at twisting the knife after digging it into someone's gut.

"What did you tell him?"

"That you'd just dropped him off and went on your merry way." Shinra smiled a little. "Nothing about the fact I haven't been able to get rid of you for the past forty eight hours." He tapped his lips thoughtfully. "Well, not unless I count the record fifteen minutes it took you to go home for a change of clothes."

"Thanks."

"It's fine. I can't say I'm not curious about why I'm lying through my teeth, but…"

"Don't push it, Shinra. I'm not _that _fucking grateful…"

But he was. More than Shinra would ever – could ever – know. He was breathtakingly relieved that Izaya was alive at all, because Shizuo had damn well conspired enough to achieve the opposite. It had been a huge fricking mistake to show up on that rooftop on the word of that yakuza scumbag. He had no way of knowing what might have happened if he hadn't. Maybe Izaya would have just pulled the trigger and walked away, and for all they both spouted about different ways to hurt, two days unconscious with a bullet hole tearing up your insides was probably the kind of hurt Izaya could have done without.

"Still, I told him to get some rest," Shinra said. "As your unofficial physician I really should tell you to do the same thing. He's going to be okay."

"Yeah…"

From the shooting, maybe. The rest of it…

Tch. Who was he to judge whether Izaya really would have wound up regretting his actions, anyway? It wasn't as though the normal standard of a moral response applied when it came to the flea. Maybe Izaya would have been fine with it. Maybe it wouldn't have started eating away at him, little by little, every day for the rest of his life until all Shizuo was to him was the guy he'd wrecked his life for. Maybe it wouldn't have changed him in the slightest. Maybe Shizuo could have lived with the knowledge he'd sat back and let Izaya do the things he should have done.

Not that _that_ mattered anymore. It hadn't been Izaya's finger on the trigger, it had been his. And all the fallout that came from that was, as it always should have been, his to bear.

He wasn't feeling much of anything. Maybe Izaya wouldn't have either.

Shinra started babbling something about how sure, Izaya's surgery hadn't been exactly routine, but there were procedures to follow when it came to abdominal trauma. Lost on the medical gibberish, Shizuo's thoughts kept drifting to how much worse he'd probably made things.

He still had no idea how the hell he managed to get them away. The part of him that clung onto sense by his fingernails had still been yelling at a passed-out flea by the time he heard the footsteps clunking up the steps towards the rooftop. His priority had been getting those eyes to open again, getting that smart-ass mouth to smirk at him again, so he'd lost a few valuable seconds in trying to figure out where they were supposed to go. Awkwardly hefting the deadweight of the flea while trying to hang on to the gun – not 'cause he had any plans on using it again, just because he wasn't leaving incriminating shit here, ten feet from a dead guy – he'd inched closed to the edge of the roof to find the fire escape only went down half a floor before it ended abruptly in a snarl of torn-off metal.

If it was just him, that jump wouldn't have fazed him. Three floors wouldn't even have jarred his knees. But out of practice as he was, if he landed awkwardly, if he lost his grip on the flea…

Someone kicked open the door onto the roof, and Shizuo figured he didn't have a lot of choice. Holding Izaya tight enough that he could feel the hot sticky blood seeping through the bundle of Izaya's coat and into his own shirt, he'd jumped.

He thought someone got off a round or two in the split second between hitting the cracked asphalt and taking off at a run, but nothing hit and hell if he was looking back to check. Figuring out how to get a bleeding flea from Ueno to Ikebukuro was hard enough. Even if he ran, four miles was going to take too long. Trading the gun for his phone, he still felt like an asshole for calling Celty, for wanting something _now_ when he hadn't even been able to trust them with the truth.

The Black Rider met him on a side street just east of the Koishikawa Botanical Gardens. Far enough away from Ueno that he was pretty sure they weren't being followed, and close enough to Ikebukuro that it wouldn't take Celty that long to get Izaya back to Shinra.

"Go," he'd said when she gestured for him to get on the bike too. "You'll be faster without me, right?"

Celty hesitated, before nodding, gunning the silent engine as the bike tore off into the dark.

He couldn't have wandered out onto the highway or any of the train stations looking like he'd just come from the scene of an axe murder. Using a low wall to propel himself onto someone's balcony, he snagged an oversized sweatshirt from their drying laundry, tugging it over his blood-stained shirt. His cigarettes had been stained dark and damp with Izaya's blood too. Shizuo ditched them in the nearest trashcan, alone with nothing to distract him from the dark of his thoughts as he followed the direction the bike had taken.

How much of a fucking coward could one guy be? It wasn't enough to just hand the flea over, he had to put the mess he left behind out of sight and out of mind too. But fuck… he just couldn't handle the thought of it. He could barely handle _thinking_. Taking a shaky breath, he'd looked up at a hazy moon hovering over the city. It wasn't that much over twenty four hours ago when he'd almost caught a glimpse of who he was again. He still didn't like that guy much, 'cause that guy still hadn't proven himself to be much good for anything besides hurting and pissing off, but at least he thought maybe he wanted to get to know him. Wanted to give him a chance to show he could be worth something. He'd wanted to know where that… whatever the hell it was with Izaya was gonna go.

And now he was the kind of guy who didn't even stand by someone who'd told him they loved him. The kind of guy who wasn't even with the one who'd as good as thrown himself in front of a bullet for him. It didn't matter that Izaya couldn't possibly mean it. It didn't matter that the whole fucked up beyond belief mess could have been avoided if the goddamn flea had just listened to him. It didn't matter that there were a hundred and one excuses he could make for not thinking clearly, because Shizuo had always though excuses weren't worth the bullshit they were written in.

Fact was, Izaya had been on that rooftop at the wrong end of that gun because of him. He should have tried harder. He should have figured out a better way to ask Izaya to stop. He should never have let the damn flea get out of bed.

What if Izaya never made it to Shinra's? For all he'd been injured over the years, Shizuo never had to process it in the same way as normal people. He couldn't distinguish a life threatening injury from something that'd fix itself in a day or two. He wasn't that fragile. He wasn't the flea.

_And_ _he's not you. That's why he did the shit he did. All the things you should have done if you weren't such an useless fucking waste of space._

By the time he got to Shinra's, the doctor was already in the middle of surgery and Celty had strict orders to keep him in the living room even if Shizuo had wanted to barge in.

[Are you okay?]

He'd shaken his head, unable to form the words to answer. No, he really wasn't. He'd never imagined he could feel worse than he had that night he'd come to in a warehouse to find his life irrevocably changed, but this did. This scared him more than the rape ever had. At least that only hurt him.

Celty said nothing, just sat quietly by his side until Shinra eventually emerged, grimly composed as he rolled down his shirtsleeves with newly-scrubbed hands and shrugged back into his coat.

"I prefer treating you," Shinra said. "At least nothing makes quite that much of a mess when it hits you."

Standing so fast his head spun, Shizuo felt the dried blood on his shirt unstick itself from his skin. "I want to see him."

"Shizuo…" Shinra began, before his gaze shifted slightly to Celty. Whatever he read in those agitated puffs of smoke as surely as normal people would read someone's expression, it made the doctor relent with a reluctant droop of his shoulders. "He's still unconscious, and there's really nothing you can—"

"Tch…"

He heard the faint tapping of Celty's PDA as he shoved past Shinra into the hall, and figured the message wasn't for him when the tapping was followed closely by, "But Celty…" A sigh. "Okay, okay, I understand…"

Following the cloying sterile smell of antiseptic to the door of the exam room, he had to stop to catch his breath with his fingers closed tight around the handle.

_Coward._

With a snarl, he'd yanked the door open and forced himself to walk through.

The flea was always pale and skinny, so there was nothing new there. But this pale had a greyish undertone to it, the ashy white of chalk marks instead of the creamy white of milk. Izaya's closed eyes looked sunken and bruised, lips dry and thin. Shizuo couldn't make the connection between them and the ones that had kissed him, brushed across his skin, murmured his name.

_Said_ _"I love you."_

"Stupid fucking idiot…" he'd muttered, never knowing for certain which one of them he was talking to, never noticing the way his voice cracked until he found it hard to breathe, until the imaged of the flea wobbled in his vision. "You can't just say shit like that and then… then fucking _leave_, goddamn asshole louse…!"

But Izaya wouldn't have gone anywhere if it wasn't for him. If he hadn't walked away. If he'd taken his head out of his ass long enough to realize they needed to get the hell away before he beat the shit out of the flea for doing it in the first place. The damned idiot would probably be in better shape right now if he had.

How much more damage had he caused just trying to get them out of there? He still couldn't see any other way he could have done it, but…

Had he already written Izaya off, simply to justify the reckless escape? Or just written himself off. 'Cause if the fuckers already got the flea when this whole fricking mess was Shizuo's fault, then…

_What the fuck's the point?_

Besides, the damage had been done long before that night. And Shizuo would do what he always did when it came to Izaya and things he just didn't want to deal with; he'd walk away.

_Tch, don't flatter yourself. You're not walking, you're running. Maybe if you'd stuck around long enough instead of flying off the goddamn handle at everything he did, you'd have realized what was going on sooner. Soon enough to stop it._

Except that Izaya really _was _a goddamn unstoppable force, and even if Shizuo threw all the immovable objects in the world into his path he had no reason to think any of them would so much as slow the flea down. They never had before.

But what was he supposed to do, when all his pleas, all his reasons, when whatever Izaya thought he felt as _love _wasn't enough? If none of that knocked any sense into him, what else did Shizuo have left to try?

He hadn't wanted to touch, even though his hands were so well trained to do just that that they twitched with the urge to reach out. Or maybe that was just the lingering desire to punch Izaya's lights out, he couldn't tell. A residual hum still shivered across his knuckles every time he flexed his fingers, remembering just how good it had felt to land his fist in that bastard's face. But he couldn't dwell on it, certainly couldn't _enjoy _it. He hadn't wanted to be that guy, the one who'd gain a primal satisfaction in inflicting violence on someone who'd wronged him. 'Cause if you started justifying that kind of retaliation, where the hell did it stop?

One day it was the asshole who'd raped him, the next it'd be a loud-mouthed jerk on the street, and eventually it'd be kicking Izaya's ass just for looking at him wrong, and that thought process terrified him. The far too plausible slide into that out-of-control cycle of violence was one of the things that scared him most, and if Izaya just didn't get that, then…

_How the hell_ _can you say you love me, flea? You don't even_ know _me._

When he'd looked up, Celty stood hesitantly in the doorway. [Shinra says he'll be asleep for a while. You look as though you could do with some sleep yourself. Why don't you go home? We'll call you if there's any change.]

He'd shaken his head. "I'm staying."

[Shizuo—]

"I'm the reason he's here. I owe him that much."

Celty's shadows tilted. [But you didn't do this to him.]

"I might as well have. He was only doing something dumb enough to get shot for because of me. 'Cause I was too chickenshit to deal with it myself…"

Even the PDA was silent for a moment. Shizuo wondered whether Celty's thoughts raced back to the conversation they'd had in that room so many weeks ago. His suspicions were confirmed when she slowly typed out, [Was it… does this have anything to do with what happened to you?]

And like that day, he hadn't been able to trust his voice, just nodding instead while his stare remained fixed on the too-still frame on the bed. He could all but hear the measured tone in Celty's silent voice as she typed carefully again.

[So he… didn't have anything to do with it?]

"No."

All Izaya did was try to fix it. In all the wrong ways, with all the wrong methods, but…

He'd agreed then to go home to clean up, but as uninviting and empty as his apartment was – not to mention the tiny bathroom and lukewarm water at best – all he did was pick up some clean clothes to take back to Shinra's with him.

And waited. Waited for Izaya to wake up, waited for Shinra to tell him things were going to be okay, knowing all the while he'd be out of the door as soon as he did. Because two days later, he still didn't know what he was supposed to say, even if he could bring himself to face a flea who was more a stranger now than he'd ever been.

"I should probably go," he said, breaking a silence that could have been going on for anything between ten seconds and ten minutes, depending on when Shinra noticed he wasn't listening anyway. "Least that way you won't really be lying to him, right?"

"Okay," Shinra agreed. "Though if it makes you feel any better, I'm not losing much sleep over lying to him about something like that."

Shizuo dredged up a half-smile. "Yeah, well… you're probably gonna have to lie to him about how bad it is too, else he's gonna try going home tomorrow."

"Ah, probably. I'll have to fake a few complications, or keep him too medicated to care." Shinra looked at him thoughtfully. "He says there won't be any repercussions from this, but knowing him as well as I do, and knowing that non-fatal gunshot wounds with the sort of bullet cartridges often used by the Yakuza aren't usually a sign of closure… is he the one lying to me?"

"I don't know." Shizuo shook his head. Just because no one followed them, just because there'd been no sign of a tail in the past two days, just because no one had tried firebombing Shinra's door… ultimately Izaya was the only one who knew what he'd been messing with.

Well… maybe not. That Awakusu guy seemed to know more about what was going on than Shizuo did. Admittedly, that threshold wasn't particularly high, but he was willing to bet that was where the flea got his hands on that gun, too. Guns just weren't Izaya's thing, and even if they were he wouldn't have picked one up from some stranger on a street corner. The flea would have wanted a guarantee no one could trace that weapon back to its source, and where better to go than a rival organization who probably wouldn't have been too cut up at the loss of those Ueno bastards?

"That's what I figured." Shinra didn't sound too put out, shrugging amiably as he followed Shizuo to the front door. "Ah well, we'll be careful anyway, just in case."

"Yeah. Kinda makes me feel better if you do."

"Oh, speaking of being careful, it might be a good idea to run your bloodwork again in the next few weeks. I have no reason to think anything's changed with your results, but I'd be neglectful as your doctor if I didn't make absolutely certain, right?"

Shizuo tensed, working the stiffness out of his shoulders as he knelt to retrieve his shoes from the entryway. By now, he was pretty sure that scrape of ice that clawed its way down his spine wasn't for him. Not when the only thing he could see in his head was Izaya above him, breathing hard, face a mask of concentration and ecstasy as he wrung Shizuo's body dry.

Every fucking time he turned around, Izaya was putting himself in stupidly dangerous situations because of him. Every fucking time.

"Yeah." He nodded, speaking through gritted teeth. "Lemme know when you want to do that."

Shinra paused while Shizuo tied his shoes. "You're not going to see him before you leave? Because he's off with the fairies by now. Well, not, you know… my Celty's type of fairy. As if I'd let someone else dream about her!" At Shizuo's look, the doctor sheepishly shook off the perverted tangent he'd wandered down. "He wouldn't know you were there, and even if he did he'd probably just chalk it up to a dream."

"No." Shizuo got to his feet. "You said he's gonna be fine, right?"

"Well, I don't see any reason right now to think he _won't_ be."

"Then it doesn't matter whether I'm there or not. He doesn't need to see me. I'm the one who got him into this mess in the first place, I'm the last guy he wants to deal with right now."

And Izaya was the last person Shizuo wanted to deal with, so it all worked out.

"Shizuo…" Shinra sighed softly. "I'm not even going to pretend I have the first idea what's been going on with you two lately. Honestly, it's kept you both out of my hair so I can't complain, even if there's something creepy and unnatural about walking through the city and not seeing you two trying to kill each other. But whatever happened…" There was a serious light to those grey eyes. "The you standing here right now isn't the you who came here that night." Shinra canted his head, rubbing the back of his neck contemplatively. "I'm not even sure it's the you who used to come here _before_ that night. And now you're telling me Izaya's gotten himself shot because of you, and the first thing he asked me was 'where is he'…" The doctor's smile was a touch to wry to be winsome. "You know, it doesn't take a genius man of science like me to start guessing. I mean, it _helps_, obviously, but…"

No, it probably didn't. Shinra'd always been too fricking shrewd for his own good anyway. Or nosy. Nosy worked too.

"Then if you're smart enough to figure all that out by yourself…" Opening the door, he glanced back at Shinra apologetically, even if the man looking back at him wasn't the one he owed the apology. "You'll get why this is the best thing I can do right now."

* * *

><p>If he had to stay at Shinra's for one more day, Izaya swore he was going to shoot <em>himself<em> next chance he got. And unlike Takahashi, he wouldn't allow his aim to be distracted.

After all, there was no longer anything to be distracted _by_, ne?

He conceded to wait out the course of antibiotics, if only because Shinra's droning lectures on the risk of infection from abdominal gunshot wounds were boring enough that they knocked him out faster than the painkillers. And of course, it was only prudent to lay low for a few days, just to make sure the Wakahisa amateurs did their recon work and went home, tails between their legs. Because they would, he had no doubt; with any luck, Shizu-chan might be smart enough to realize that and take necessary precautions – or not; it was Shizu-chan he was talking about after all… either way, Izaya had no intention of worrying about it anymore. He'd done what he set out to do. Next time he strolled into Ikebukuro, the world would have reset and righted itself, and the life that had been in limbo for the past few weeks could just begin anew.

After another four days, endless poking and prodding and "you're _sure _this doesn't hurt?" Shinra deemed him suitable for parole. Of course, Izaya was lying; while the wound wasn't anywhere close to the pain it had been when he first woke up, its location meant almost everything he did made it hurt. At least Shinra seemed happy enough that it was common or garden variety 'it's meant to hurt when metal tears through your flesh' pain, rather than 'your stomach is leaking something stronger than battery acid into your body cavity' pain. After close enough to a week under his care, honestly, Izaya was starting to see the appeal of the battery acid…

Shinra was suspiciously tactful when it came to asking obnoxious questions, which was a red flag in and of itself. For the first few days, Izaya half expected to wake up to find the doctor sitting cheerfully at his bedside, chin on his hands, and "So, you're pining over Shizuo, right?" on his lips. Instead, Shinra seemed to have every topic of conversation at hand _but _for Shizu-chan, and since Izaya was hardly going to make a fool of himself by asking again, the subject remained untouched until the day he left.

"So… you're going back to Shinjuku, right?"

Shinra had, at some point during the last week, had Izaya's coat dry-cleaned. He doubted he'd get a sensible answer about what kind of laundry asked no questions about a blood-soaked parka, so didn't bother. Shrugging into it, he'd searched instinctively for a cell phone that wasn't there.

"Yes, mother, I'm going straight home." Izaya sighed. "Where else would I go? And I told you, ne? This is over. I'm not going to get shot again just walking the street."

…Okay, maybe not the best analogy in the world, but still. It was _probably _true.

"No, I mean… you're not going to be walking the streets in Ikebukuro, right?"

Izaya plucked at his sleeves. He always hated the way dry-cleaning made the fur lie flat and staticy. "And if I am? Despite the best efforts of corrupt Diet members, last time I checked we were a moderately free country." He sent Shinra a tight smile. "Or are you going to tell me to stay out of Ikebukuro?"

"Izaya—"

Hmm. What _had_ Shizu-chan told them to explain this all away? Not the truth, obviously, but he still felt oddly unarmed without the knowledge, when he'd said something so… incriminating.

Ah, he did regret opening his mouth, but he supposed he did have an insight now into the things humans felt in that split second of stupid desperation. It went a long way to explaining away all the mind-blowingly inane things they'd told him over the years. Especially the ones teetering on the edge, metaphorically or otherwise.

Whether it was true or not wasn't even that relevant. He'd known before he spoke that it was nothing Shizuo wanted to hear, and the continued radio silence only proved him correct. So really, all he'd done was embarrass himself in front of two people, one of whom was now dead, and the other had nothing to gain – and a great deal to lose, probably - from repeating the admission, so all in all it wasn't that bad.

"Ah, don't worry about it." He'd waved a hand dismissively, strolling out the door as nonchalantly as his injury would allow. "You don't need to play the substitute, Shinra. I have no intention of getting in his way. I mean, it'd hurt if he threw something at me in my condition, ne?"

Or maybe it wouldn't. It might have been the lingering effect of a week on some nice strong painkillers, but reality still didn't feel all that real. It would improve, he hoped. He'd been feeling this strange sense of detachment ever since Shizuo ran out on him on that _other _rooftop after Nishimura's death. Frankly, he was getting tired of it.

There was one bright side to the way he'd pushed everything else aside lately; at least when he got home, there wasn't the mountain of missed calls and unanswered emails that he could have expected any other time he decided to take an unscheduled week off. At least half the calls were from numbers he recognized as the Awakusu's network. Shiki was not going to be pleased with the fact Izaya had… somehow managed to misplace that gun. Well, not exactly _misplace_; he knew exactly where he'd last seen it, after all.

He _never _wanted to go back for it. Not if it meant having to watch that look on Shizu-chan's face again.

The whole thing was better left forgotten, which was why he lasted all of one afternoon in his apartment before picking up a laptop and a couple of phones and checking into a hotel suite instead. It was a bad, dangerous habit to start, he knew that. Aversion therapy was probably wiser. But the apartment he'd never given much thought to past the convenience and the space didn't feel the same as it used to, and he wasn't going to be able to concentrate on anything while he associated every damned thing he laid eyes on with the last time Shizuo had been here. The last time Shizuo had been sprawled on his couch. The last time Shizuo had his window open, the breeze licking away the smoke from the tip of his cigarette. The last time Shizuo had been nuking something in his microwave.

Shizuo, Shizuo, Shizuo. The last time, the last time, the _last time._

Che. A change of scene would do him good. Anyone who allowed fixtures and fittings force his hand was someone liable to make mistakes when it came to his work, and he really couldn't afford that now. He was lucky he could financially afford to slack off the way he had; the first thing he needed to do to recoup some of this investment was to get the Nishimura house off his hands. He'd given Hanako enough time to retrieve any possessions she might want, however unwise it might have been for her to go back. It had been pretty unwise of her to be married to an abusive rapist too, Izaya thought, but that clearly hadn't been much incentive. Why imagine she'd stop now?

_Megumi-chan_, his mind supplied. _That might be a reason for her to stop, ne? _

He dismissed the thought, not only because it came along with that image of Shizuo's smile as he watched her run around with his sunglasses, but because no one was naïve enough to think something like that was motivation enough. How many nights had Hanako endured her husband's 'affections' while she strove to keep from waking the kid in the room next door in that tiny house? That hadn't been enough either. No, Hanako's decisions and choices were all about Hanako, and only a gullible idiot would think she'd done anything she'd done for anyone else.

_"But it was all for you, can't you see that?"_

"You know you say that, but it's not true … 'Cause if it was, you'd know how it feels hearing you say something like that."

Staring out of the window of his plush Shinjuku hotel suite while he waited for his phones to charge and his laptop to boot up on the glass-topped desk, Izaya glared in the general direction of Ikebukuro.

Shizu-chan was just in denial. After all, he'd spent so long trying to live up to some normal, some _human_ ideal, he'd deluded himself into thinking some arbitrary moral standard somehow applied to him. Izaya couldn't even understand why someone would want to be a part of something that demanded that of them; why would you choose to align yourself with something that, as part of its membership rules, required you to give up being what you were? Ah, but Shizu-chan had always had trouble accepting and embracing that, so it shouldn't be much of a surprise. And besides, if he truly _did_ want to play at being human, what better way than to sink to the levels of retribution and revenge? Holding grudges and making others pay for their flaws, perceived or otherwise, was such a human trait, Shizuo should be _thanking_ him for it. Especially when he'd learnt his lesson so fast.

_"You're no different to them."_

Shizu-chan was just ungrateful. Seriously, how much of a dumb beast did someone have to be not to see Izaya had done him a favour? How blind did he have to be to miss all the progress they'd made? It wasn't even about teaching the blond to touch again; it had been about teaching him to stop hesitating. Shizuo Heiwajima didn't hesitate. Ever. He didn't stop to think, he didn't fear the consequences. And Izaya had given him that back. There'd been none of it in that swinging fist, and none of it in Shizuo's eyes when he pulled the trigger. It had been the same monster who'd lunged at him, judged him, the day they met. The one who'd created those safe, convenient boundaries Izaya cherished so much without even thinking about it. The monster who'd never looked afraid.

_"Fuck it, flea, I'm _always _fricking afraid. That had nothing to do with them."_

Shizu-chan just didn't want anything he offered. Never had. And like anyone who tried to nurse a wild creature back to health, Izaya supposed he should have been a little more prepared for the day it returned to its natural environment. After all, that was why he'd done it in the first place, ne? It was silly to be annoyed at getting what he wanted. What would he have done with Shizuo hanging around him all the time, anyway? He'd never have been permitted to carry out his business in the same way, for one thing, not with that nagging pseudo-conscience criticizing his every move.

Shizu-chan just… wasn't here. And when it came down to it, that was a bigger problem than all the others.

One of the cell phones on charge rang, jolting him out of his thoughts. Picking it up, cord still attached, he scanned the unfamiliar number. This was one of the phones he'd purposely left till last, deciding he wasn't in the mood yet to tackle the intimidatingly long 'missed call' list. Most of the first two pages had been Shiki. None of them had been Shizuo. Past that, Izaya really didn't care. Once or twice, his finger had hovered over the number of the phone he'd given Shizu-chan, only to withdraw. He had nothing left to say.

And he wouldn't have answered it now, except he wanted some distraction from the bullet train his thoughts were riding.

"Yes?"

"Huh. So you are alive. Lucky~, Nakura-san! Oh, wait, no, it's Orihara-san right? You were never home when I came by your office, Orihara-san, so I thought maybe you'd just gone and died already. But Takahashi said you probably wouldn't go down that easy."

Izaya grit his teeth, the flare of tension making the healing wound ache. Here was proof again that Shizu-chan was nothing but a distraction; he would _never_ have forgotten about this particular loose end if he'd been thinking rationally.

"Kei-kun. How's the whole existing without a pedophile patron working out for you these days, hmm?"

"Guess that depends," the kid said. "How's life as a murderer working out for you?"

Ah, children. So dramatic. But he couldn't deny the flutter of relief at the fact Kei thought he was the one responsible. He _should_ have been the one responsible for it. If he hadn't frozen at the crucial moment, they wouldn't be in this situation now.

_And_ _if you'd shut the hell up and just shot the asshole on sight,_ a wryly familiar voice in the back of his head rumbled, _that would've been even better, hah?_

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Kei-kun," he smiled blithely at the phone. "Though I would have thought you'd be happy he was gone, ne? After all, who else is going to help you fake a sob story to dupe innocents now?"

"Bastard!" Kei hissed. "You don't have a right to start talking like that about something you don't know anything about!"

Izaya sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. Honestly, he'd had his fill of this with Hanako; was he carrying around an invisible magnet for the brainwashed, broken and generally co-dependant? Ah, that must have been why Shizu-chan was so repelled…

"Something I don't _care _about," he corrected the boy. "Why not see this as an opportunity to walk away, ne, Kei-kun? Surely someone with enough guts to lie to me has a brighter future than being a whore for someone like Takahashi."

"You think you can tell me what to do?" Kei barked a laugh. "Nah, you've got it all wrong. See this is where I tell you what to do."

Chuckling, Izaya shook his head. "If you're trying to blackmail me, Kei-kun—"

"Not trying. See, Takahashi's a careful guy. On the off chance that something'd happen, he left some… insurance with me. And I don't really give a crap about the losers he works with, but you'd be in pretty big trouble if I handed it over to them, right? You and your boyfriend. That's who he was, right, the blond guy who hassled me? Kinda hot in person, I can see why Takahashi had fun with him."

Izaya laughed. Ah, the kid had balls, he had to give him that. Years too early – about a decade, assuming Takahashi hadn't liked them even younger than rumour suggested, but really Kei had been on of those indeterminate-aged teens so it was hard to tell – but still… gutsy.

"So what do you want, Kei-kun? A bike? A Playstation? Is there some pair of sneakers all the middle schoolers are wearing these days? Che… if I cared what your sugar daddy had on me, I would never have approached him in the first place. Feel free to pass that insurance onto anyone you like. Do your best, ne!"

Barely ten second after he'd hung up, his phone beeped again with a message alert. Still irritated at that annoying little brat's threats, he wasn't even paying much attention as he opened the message, watching the remarkably clear cell phone camera photo load.

By the time the whole thing was displayed on his screen, Izaya had only taken one glimpse at it before throwing the phone onto the desk with a clatter. It didn't matter. His imagination had probably thrown worse at him, but at least he'd had the consolation of knowing it might not be real. The photos might not be real either, he reasoned, but he knew enough of Shizuo's body by now to cast doubt on that. He knew how those shoulders felt under his hands, even if the shirt over them had never been torn and dirtied like that. He knew the strength coiling in those thighs, even if he'd never seen them slick and smeared with blood. And he knew those eyes… ah, he couldn't even come up with any counter for the pain shimmering in them, because he _had_ seen that before.

Breathing hard enough to make his side protest with every angry exhale, it took every ounce of will he had not to throw the phone out of the window, watch it and the evidence it contained crash to the street far below. His hands were probably shaking too hard to accomplish it anyway. Probably for the best… he didn't know whether Kei had any other means of contact, and it looked as though he probably _should_ have cared what Takahashi had on him. Because it wouldn't ever _be_ about him, would it? Because his failure had been in not recognizing Takahashi's weaknesses when the bastard had his pegged from the start.

_Over and done, ne?_ _Not quite, Shizu-chan… _

* * *

><p>It was weird how you noticed the stuff you took for granted above everything else. Things he'd never had to think about before – like the walk from his apartment to the centre of Ikebukuro – didn't just involve picking up his keys, his wallet and his cigarettes anymore. One day, it would be like that again, he figured, but for now he needed to psych himself up just to get out the door. He felt better knowing he had a working cell phone in his pocket, even though he didn't have anyone to call. Even though the damn phone was still Izaya's.<p>

Now and then, Shizuo'd power it up just to stare at the few numbers programmed into the address book until the characters that made up Izaya's name were as strange and unfamiliar as the one they belonged to. Just a series of crisscrossing lines that didn't make sense.

But he was done trying to figure it out. He'd known all along it was a mistake getting too close to the flea. Seemed kinda petty to complain about it now. Izaya had only done what Izaya would _always_ do. And just 'cause Shizuo wanted to be a million miles away from his own instinctive nature, it never meant Izaya wanted the same thing.

There was nothing _to_ figure out, not when they were that fundamentally different. It might've been a mistake to let Izaya in, but to be dumb enough to think they'd _ever _be able to co-exist was just stupid. The flea could couch it in terms of some smart theory, but Shizuo could've told him that from the start. Uneasy circling or mutually assured destruction, there was nothing in between. No peace, and no common ground. Not even with that guy Izaya was when he thought no one else was looking. No one important, anyway.

But it was done. Even if the flea had been allowed to leave Shinra's by now, there had been no attempts at contact on either side. If the ball was in his court, Shizuo figured the clearest message he could send was just not to pick the damn thing up. Not go anywhere near it. He just needed to try and pick up the pieces of a life that no longer fit the way it used to.

Despite his best efforts, it took him a good few days just to get as far as Sunshine Street. He'd learned to pick quieter times when the streets weren't quite so crowded and noisy, when no one would bump into him or stare at him like he was some kind of ghost. Heh, maybe he was… And he might have backed out that afternoon too, if it wasn't his dumb luck that the perverted four-eyes happened to be heading home from work at the same time Shizuo was trying to regain his.

"Ah, Shizuo! I was going to call you later anyway, so this saves me the trouble." Shinra strolled over to him. "I, um… well, thought you should probably know I sent Izaya home this morning. To Shinjuku," the doctor clarified, like that was important. Like a handful of miles across the city made a damn bit of difference when Izaya was still somewhere on the same fricking planet. "He said he wasn't interested in wandering around Ikebukuro, but, well…" Shinra smiled wryly. "This is Izaya. I thought it best to warn you."

Shizuo snorted a soft laugh. Warn him? Yeah, like all that worked before, right?

"I don't care where he is," he lied, scuffing one shoe against the dirty cracked sidewalk. What he wanted to ask was how Izaya's wound was healing, whether the flea was okay, whether he was capable of looking out for himself properly now. Instead, he shrugged and said, "As long as he stays outta my way."

"Well, at least now it won't be a horrible surprise if he doesn't," Shinra said. "Ah, I really hope he didn't leave anything at my place. It'd be annoying if he could use that as an excuse to come back…"

Shizuo frowned, Shinra's words reminding him of something Izaya might not have left at the doctor's apartment, but certainly had left with him. Or, well, he'd taken it with him, which probably wasn't the same thing. Either way, Izaya might use it as leverage unless Shizuo could get rid of it first. Assuming he was right about his owner, at least.

"Oi, Shinra… You know that local yakuza guy, right?"

"Shiki-san?" Shinra blinked. "Well, I don't _know _him, exactly… Celty and I have had some dealings with him in the past. Why?"

"'Cause I wanna talk to him about something."

"I _really _don't think that's a good idea."

Shizuo lit a cigarette and sent Shinra a sidelong look, muttering around the stick as he took a puff. "Then it's a good thing I'm not asking your opinion, hah? I just wanna return some property to him, that's all. You know the guy, you know where I can find him, right?"

Shinra sighed. "You'd probably be better off asking Celty about something like that. But she's not going to be any happier than I am about it."

"Doesn't matter." Shizuo shrugged. "If it's not you guys I'll only find some other way to get to him, so you might as well help. Unless you _want _to see me in deep shit with the yakuza again."

Chuckling softly, Shinra shook his head. "Wow. You really have been around Izaya too long, haven't you? That was emotional blackmail worthy of a pro."

That wasn't exactly something to be proud of. And nothing he needed reminding of, not now.

"I'll tell her you're looking for her, anyway." Shinra nodded, following Shizuo's gaze to where a dreadlocked man and a blonde girl were stepping out of the pachinko parlor. At this distance it was impossible to listen in to their conversation, but the expression on Tom's face as he sighed spoke of a job half-done. That, or someone was threatening to sue again after Vorona scared them shitless. Looking solemn, she said something that made Tom ruffle her hair playfully, earning himself a flustered looking scowl that only made his ex-boss smile wider, and Shizuo found himself doing the same despite himself. Funny how he'd thought he might feel bad to see them getting on so well without him; seeing it for himself, there was something reassuring about it.

He'd been right to stay away. If any of this had spilled over and hurt them somehow – hurt them more than his behaviour already _did_ - he'd never have forgiven himself.

"Thanks. Look, I need to…" Shizuo tilted his head gruffly in the direction of his… actually he had no idea what the hell they were anymore. Friends, colleagues, two people who thought he was an ass for the way he acted.

"Ah, of course!" Shinra beamed. "I'll go home and butter Celty up for you. Oh, the sacrifices I make for you…"

"Tch, idiot…" Crushing the cigarette under his shoe as Shinra wandered off with a starry-eyed expression that almost made him want to call Celty and warn her, Shizuo shoved his hands in his pockets, steeling himself as he crossed the street and headed in Tom and Vorona's direction.

She noticed him first, violet eyes widening. "Senpai."

Tom looked up sharply at the word. "Shizuo?"

"…Hey."

Yeah. As far as 'I've come to beg for my job back' grovelling greetings, that one was pretty fucking pathetic. And since neither of his colleagues were normally ones for big displays of affection, he was only making things awkward for all three of them the longer he hovered, uncertain, a few feet away.

"Where the hell have you _been?_" Tom asked eventually, after staring at him for a good few moments, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as though not quite trusting his eyes. "Geez, if it wasn't for that doctor buddy of yours, we'd have started believing the rumours that you were stuck in concrete in the bay."

"Senpai's disappearance was concerning," Vorona added, looking a little bewildered. "I am experiencing feelings of relief that the rumours have proven untrue."

"What happened?" Tom shook his head. "I know you weren't… well, exactly _yourself_ when you took off, but we figured you'd cool off after a few days."

It was even harder than he'd expected, the awareness that he couldn't tell them the truth. It had been daunting enough when he thought they'd be pissed off, when he thought there'd be accusations of how badly he'd let them down. But facing them, seeing nothing but genuine confusion and concern in their eyes… damn it, he _owed_ them a better explanation than the one he offered.

But it was the one he'd practised for days now, and it was the one he was sticking with. And if it was selfish to ply them with a half-assed story just because he didn't want to think about Izaya anymore, well… he'd never said he wasn't, right?

"I was just… in trouble with some really shady guys, and I didn't want you in the firing line. But it's all taken care of now, so… I know I don't have any right coming to beg for my job back, but even if it's a couple of shifts, I could _really_ do with the money right now 'cause I gotta start paying for my rent again, and—"

"Okay, slow down…" Tom held up a hand and Shizuo ducked his head at how much he'd been babbling like an idiot. "I'm not gonna tell you we haven't been worried about you, or that it's been really hard covering for you while you've been gone. But since you never officially quit, and they'd have to fire me—"

"Us." Vorona nodded.

"They'd have to fire _us _too if they made a big deal out of it…" Tom smiled wryly. "So consider it unpaid leave, yeah?"

Releasing a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, Shizuo offered his senpai and his kouhai the best smile he could manage.

"Yeah. Thanks. I mean that."

"Ah, it's no big deal." Tom shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. "I mean, I'd be dumb to lose a bodyguard like you, right? We weren't keeping your job safe because we kinda _like _you or anything."

Shizuo lowered his gaze. They _wouldn't _like him if they knew the truth. If they knew the sort of guy he really was. But the only one who had the first clue about the real him had way too much to lose by opening his mouth, so as long as he kept his shut, no one would ever have to know. If he did it long enough and well enough, maybe one day he wouldn't even be able to tell where

"And just talk to us next time, okay? You're not putting us out. Heck, we might've been able to help you out if you'd told us what was going on."

"Yeah…" His gaze darted up briefly from staring at Tom's lapel. "Sorry. Like I said, I just didn't want to get you guys in trouble."

Tom sighed softly. "So you'd rather take on all the trouble by yourself?"

"Yeah, well… seemed safer at the time than dragging innocent people into the mess I'd made."

Tom began to say something, a fierce light in his eyes that made Shizuo think there'd be a "but that's what friends do for each other, dumbass!" argument in there somewhere. Vorona saved him from not knowing how the hell to respond to that, by tilting her head. "Senpai's return is convenient. Next client is the Akagawa store. Behind on payments, always cause problems."

"Ah, that's right." Tom nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets as he began walking with a long-suffering sigh. "Maybe they'll think we brought you back on board to nudge them into behaving, huh?"

It took Shizuo a moment to realize they expected him to fall into step with them as they headed to the next job. That it was okay for him to pick up where things had been left off, without so much as a blink. He followed his colleagues, concentrating on taking one step at a time to drown out the insidious little voice in the back of his head that said he was trading one mistake for another, one escape route for the next, and that the tired old disguise would never last.

Shizuo didn't care. It just had to last long enough for him to forget it was a disguise in the first place.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Oh, hey," Tom inclined his head towards Vorona, "he's back in time, right? See, I told you the lure of sugar would draw him back."

"Negative." Vorona shook her head. "Senpai is clearly not an ant or wasp, therefore would not be able to discern ambient glucose molecules in the environment. Also, such insects favour sugar for its simple to transport properties and high ratio of energy in relation to its size. Senpai would have no trouble carrying larger food items. No trouble."

It still felt like he was eavesdropping on a conversation that he shouldn't be privy to. Shizuo smiled a little, reminding himself that not only were they not badgering him about his absence, but they were trying to bring him into the discussion. Albeit by comparing him to an ant.

"Wait, what am I carrying now?"

Vorona drew a folded up piece of paper from her pocket, unfolding it methodically. "A new bakery." She thrust the flyer at him, not quite meeting his eyes. "Grand opening next week. Attending the establishment with Senpai would be agreeable… Senpai enjoys cakes. To miss the opportunity would be a pity. Therefore Senpai's return is timely."

They were all trying so hard, he realized. Celty and Shinra's concern, Tom and Vorona's effort to welcome him back even though he'd been the ass who left them in the lurch. Maybe none of them knew the extent of what had gone on in the weeks he'd been absent, but they could tell something was wrong. They were all trying to make it better, in their own way.

And it would be easy to convince himself they never could; nothing could patch up the damage Izaya had done – tch, the damage they'd _both_ done – besides a time machine to go back and stop either of them doing it at all. There was nothing anyone could do to erase the things Shizuo had seen, the things he'd felt. There was no way of taking back the way he'd done what he'd sworn to himself and the world at large that he'd never do; fall for the flea's games.

Fallen for the fricking flea, period.

But if it was impossible, why keep torturing himself with things he could never have? Things that hadn't really existed in the first place, except in Shizuo's head and Izaya's schemes.

They were all trying so hard to fix things. Maybe it was time to let them.

"Yeah," he mustered a smile, pretending something in his heart knit itself back together when violet eyes sparkled at him instead of red. It'd never be red again, he had to get that through his thick head. "That'd be good."


	24. Chapter 24

**Originally posted at the DRRR kinkmeme (Update parts 207-224)**

**A/N:** Nope, not the end! XD Not far off now, but not quite there yet. The previous chapter just caught you guys up with what had been posted elsewhere, so what's left will be posted here/at the kinkmeme/on my LJ concurrently. :3

Thank you all for the comments and reviews, as always *hearts* and just for reading along this far.

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><p><span>What You Don't Surrender <span>

Chapter 24

There was a reason hotels were only ever meant to be transient, temporary places. Their beds were uncomfortable, their networks were unsecured, and even when you paid ridiculous amounts of money for a suite you still couldn't predict who your neighbours would be on any given night.

For the first few days, Izaya didn't care; he still had some painkillers left over from Shinra's attempt to drug him into submission and they were usually enough to knock him out for a few hours. He hadn't even summoned the will to eavesdrop on the party going on in the room across the hallway, despite the fact that the hotel reservations database suggested the gentleman entertaining a different young woman every night was a prominent politician.

Once upon a time, he'd have seen that as an opportunity. He could have expanded his network at the same time as he enjoyed watching the vagaries of humans playing out in their same old tired melodramas. Everything they did entertained him on some level, but he had to admit their propensity for making hideous mistakes in the name of what they called love and he called lack of self-control over ones libido had always been a personal favourite.

At least until he'd started making the same mistakes. It wasn't quite so much fun then…

But it didn't matter. He hadn't hacked the hotel system for that kind of information in the first place; he'd only done it to make sure there was nothing overly suspicious about his fellow residents. Someone who might have checked-in just after he did, for example. Someone staying alone with an open-ended reservation.

_Fortunately, it seems you're the only pathetic one here who can't bear to go home, ne?_

Che… the longer Kei-kun kept his silence, the more that irrational side of Izaya he thought would fade in direct lack of proximity to brainless protozoans flared to life again. But after that first phone call, the brat hadn't been in contact at all.

Izaya couldn't be the one to break the impasse first. Calling Kei back would only imply that he cared one way or another what the kid intended to do with those photographs. Sending what remained of the Wakahisa hierarchy after Shizu-chan seemed rather redundant at this point, though he supposed it was possible Kei really did have some noble vengeance scheme in mind. Possible, but not likely. He'd met the kid; it didn't take much to figure out that Kei-kun's needs were far more materialistic than that. No, Kei wanted someone to keep him in the lifestyle to which he'd become accustomed as Takahashi's little blow-up doll, that was all. He wanted money, _things_, and it wouldn't take him long to figure out he wasn't going to get those things from Shizuo. Last Izaya checked, right around the time he found out that he no longer paid the rent for one run down Ikebukuro apartment, Shizuo would be lucky if he could afford to treat Kei to extra fries.

_Which is why he came to me, ne? If he hoped to achieve anything else, why would he come straight to me?_

Still, he couldn't pretend he hadn't lain awake in that unfamiliar, uncomfortable hotel bed and stared at the ceiling wishing desperately Kei hadn't. Hadn't called him, hadn't threatened him, hadn't sent him that photo…

He'd never been deluded enough to think that it might not be real as long as it all stayed in his imagination. A few times along the way he'd suspected that had been _exactly _Shizu-chan's strategy – hadn't he all but admitted once or twice that all he wanted to do was forget it had ever happened? – but it wasn't Izaya's. He dealt with information, after all. The more he had, the better prepared he could be for any eventuality.

His fingers glanced across the keys of his phone, hovering perpetually between the redial button and the delete button under the dispassionate 'you have (1) new message'. Common sense and years of experience told him to keep it. Something as simple as an image file gave up so much information with just the gentlest prodding. If he really took it apart, he could find out what model cell phone Kei had used to send it to him, and he had the feeling the brat would be fun to play with when he was out of his depth. Takahashi had probably gone easy on him, after all. There wasn't much point breaking your toys to that extent unless you were planning on disposing of them once you were done…

Part of him never wanted to see so much as a pixel of that image ever again. It didn't matter that he knew he'd never forget, that every time he closed his eyes all he saw was that look on Shizu-chan's face, that hopeless despair in glassy brown eyes…

That photo was his only proof that someone _else _had been responsible for that look first. As long as he held onto it, he could reassure himself that whatever Shizuo thought he'd done that was so terrible, someone else had done worse.

_You see, Shizu-chan? I'm nothing like them. Nothing._

He should erase it. There'd be cathartic release in that, he thought. Wiping the past few weeks clean and forgetting any of it happened.

Honestly, was it too much to ask for this to be over? For Shizu-chan to have his way and for there to be no reason their paths should deliberately cross ever again?

After a day or two, he'd taken to trying to sleep without the medication. His injury had improved to the point that the pain was little more than a dull ache, testament to Shinra's skill and about the only reason Izaya hadn't seen personally to his downfall years ago. The bruising had faded to ugly yellow, the throbbing twinges of the stitches barely demanded his attention anymore, and if he couldn't reason the pills away as being for the pain, well… it was a dangerous habit to get into, ne?

_You're going to have to get used to sleeping without him eventually._

Besides, if Kei called and he was in some drug-induced sleep… what if the brat decided Izaya was ignoring him on purpose and went ahead with whatever his plan was for Shizu-chan's photos?

Frankly, he had no interest in whatever Kei had in mind. The boy could send them to every member of the Wakahisa and their grandmothers, it was none of Izaya's concern. He could make whatever ridiculous demands he chose. As long as those pictures never ended up on Shizuo's radar, he'd…

_You'll what? In case it escaped your notice, he wasn't exactly brimming with gratitude the last time you spared him the full brunt of this, ne? Why do you think he'll feel any differently now?_

It wasn't as though he _cared_. Circumstance and experience had only gone to prove what a futile human failing that truly was, even when you weren't doing it on purpose. He just hated wasting his time, and if Shizu-chan laid eyes on those photos then the past weeks would have been nothing more than an utter waste of effort. He'd be right back where he started, with a broken Shizuo and a world he didn't recognize. Anything was worth it to keep from going back there, especially when attaining his regularly scheduled life was so close.

Anything.

As studiously as Izaya was avoiding answering any _other _calls, Shiki-san really ought to have considered himself lucky that the executive caught him in a charitable mood. He'd spent most of the morning trying to lose himself in his work – and succeeding, if one counted success in seconds rather than minutes or hours, and frankly these days Izaya was going to take what he could get; a man had to cut himself some slack when he was getting back in the saddle, ne? – and ignoring every call that didn't come from that unrecognized number. It seemed Takahashi had taught Kei well in the art of hostage negotiation.

Izaya had lost count of the times he'd bargained silently with himself - _one more day; if he hasn't called by tonight then I'll track him down_- until day turned to night turned to the grey light of another vacant morning and he was still getting nowhere.

Maybe it was cabin fever, the need to reconnect with his humans in the outside world just long enough to anchor himself again. It was never healthy to be so absorbed in one act, one person to the point you forget life existed beyond them. That was why humans fell apart, ne? They focused so much of their energy and attention at one source, when it turned its back and walked away they were left with nothing.

"Shiki-san," he pasted on a smile and hoped for the best. It was difficult enough to fool such a connoisseur of body language when he was on top of his game. "It's been a while, ne?"

Shiki didn't waste much time. "Ueno's in a little bit of trouble, Informant-san. Anything you want to tell me about that?"

"Me?" Izaya feigned innocence, a pointless thing at the best of times but especially with a man who knew he hadn't been that for a long time. If ever. "Why would I know anything about that?"

"Do we really need to jump through these hoops, Informant-san? I could tell you that you're the only one who's been asking about them recently. I could tell you that rumours place someone who fits your description in Ueno about two weeks ago before it all happened. I could remind you that you asked to borrow a gun. I could remind you that you got my men involved in the kidnapping and imprisonment of a Wakahisa executive's wife and child." He heard the soft creak of a chair, and pictured Shiki sitting back at his desk. "But I wouldn't insult your intelligence by saying those kind of things."

His smile drawing down a little wryly at the corners, Izaya shrugged. "Then I'll return the favour."

"I don't think you quite grasp the severity of the situation," Shiki said evenly. "Four of the Wakahisa's men are dead, two of whom were at the top of the tree."

"Doesn't say much about their selection criteria, ne?"

"Which means their entire infrastructure is in turmoil," Shiki went on, ignoring him. "Plenty of other groups have had their eye on the Wakahisa's holdings, but thanks to your inability to separate business and personal, Informant-san, we're the only ones with ties to these incidents."

"Are you still trying to get me to betray my client's confidentiality, Shiki-san?"

"Are you still claiming there _is _a client?"

Losing all pretence of amusement, Izaya turned towards the window. The lunchtime crowds rushed the Shinjuku streets far below, but his gaze drifted instead to the horizon, and the hazy, distant windmills crowning Sunshine 60. Ah, he really should have asked for a room that didn't have that slight north east aspect… for someone who wanted nothing more than never facing Shizu-chan ever again, he wasn't doing a particularly good job of it, even from halfway across the city.

Maybe it wasn't too late to move to a different suite. A different hotel. A different country.

"What personal business could I have with a group in Ueno, of all places? It's hardly worth my while stirring up trouble there."

"No. But Heiwajima's usually worth your while, Informant-san, wherever he happens to be. My men have reported seen him back at his old job like nothing ever happened in the past couple of weeks."

Izaya smiled a little, the expression not quite forced but not quite sitting comfortably either. It really shouldn't have tightened his chest the way it did, the thought of Shizu-chan being so wholly unaffected by their time together that he could slip back almost unnoticed into his old life while Izaya was the one left floundering. _That really isn't fair, Shizu-chan. I'm the one who wanted it more. I'm the one who gave up everything for it._" Isn't that something?"

"You didn't know about that?" Shiki's scepticism might as well have crawled through the line and arched a weary, furrowed brow at him.

"I haven't had business in Ikebukuro for a while, Shiki-san. Entertaining as he is, I can't keep tabs on him _all _the time."

Well, he _could_, he'd just rather not go back to the days of watching Shizuo enjoying peaceful, even-keel days surrounded by friends and admirers and wishing he knew the perfect way to bring it all crumbling to rubble. It never mattered that Shizuo had no concept of how fortunate he really was; it suited him fine that the protozoan couldn't see the respect and affection that those around him felt. It had been safe, somehow, making the choices he did when he could always look at Shizu-chan and remind himself he wasn't _that_ lonely, _that_ alienated… _that _much of a monster. It allowed him the clarity and distance to keep right on cheerfully choosing to delude himself, because Shizu-chan's existence was a nadir Izaya'd never reach no matter what he did.

"Where's the weapon you were loaned, Informant-san?"

Izaya didn't need much coaxing to go back to that night on the roof. Every time he managed to sleep longer than fifteen minutes at a stretch, it showed up in some variation or other. Sometimes Shizuo was there too, and there'd be fragments of conversations that may have been real and may have been wishful, wistful figments if Izaya's imagination. Sometimes it was just Shizuo's retreating back, and the rooftop was a whirring treadmill that got him nowhere. Sometimes it was just him and Takahashi; those were the dreams he liked best, the ones where he did everything right this time. Didn't falter. Pulled the trigger.

Shiki's abrupt question, however, made him replay it with all its ugly reality back in place. He did falter. He did fail. And it had been Shizuo's finger the trigger of a gun Izaya had last seen lying on damp concrete. After that…

"It's perfectly safe," he lied. "I've been too busy to return it, that's all."

"Well, you can bring it with you later," Shiki said, "along with whatever information you gather from the job you'll be doing for me today."

"Today? I'm sorry, Shiki-san, I'm a little busy today."

Busy waiting for calls that never came. Busy convincing himself he had no intention of making the first move. Busy pretending Shizuo Heiwajima didn't exist. Busy, busy, busy…

"I see." Shiki sounded amenable enough to that idea. Always a bad sign. "In that case, Informant-san, let me rephrase it. You've put us in the line of fire with the Wakahisa, you've misplaced the weapon you borrowed, and you still refuse to explain _why _when mitigating circumstances might be the only thing between you and a sudden and unexpected termination of our working relationship. At the last count, you owed me five free jobs. "

"Well, that's not—"

A sudden clattering echoed somewhere on the other end of the line had him gripping the edge of the windowsill. Doors slammed. Voices rose, too muffled for him to make out what they were saying. And even if Izaya had been inclined to worry about who might have reason to harass the Awakusu, he should have known well enough that Shiki and his men were capable of dealing with it. These people weren't his friends. They bore no relevance to him whatsoever except as human pawns to move around a vast, cosmic game board. Interesting, mildly powerful human pawns that he could play to his advantage when the mood took him, maybe, but it didn't mean their safety, their loss, mattered beyond those constraints, and it had been ridiculous, unpleasant ideas to the contrary that got him into this mess in the first place.

"What's going on?"

The older man sighed loudly. "You really go all out to make unnecessary work for me, don't you, Informant-san?"

Izaya swallowed, jaw tense. The Wakahisa really were idiots if they thought they could launch an attack on the Awakusu on their own turf, especially as depleted and scattered as their hierarchy was right now. There was no way they could achieve anything.

_And they're only there because of you, ne?_

"Shiki-san, I—"

"If I were you, I'd shut up before those five jobs become ten." Shiki didn't sound all that perturbed by whatever was going on, which would have been reassuring if not for the fact Shiki wouldn't have sounded all that perturbed if the Endgame battle to bring Valhalla crashing into Ikebukuro was taking place on his desk. A reckless ambush by a rival group was nothing to get worked up about. "Someone'll send you the details shortly. Now if you'll excuse me, it seems I have other business to attend to."

"Other business? More important than working me to the bone free of…" The dial tone droned a bored response, and for a second Izaya just stared incredulously at his phone like words would magically form themselves from the static to explain what the hell just happened.

Ah, whatever it was it had nothing to do with him anymore. It would be difficult to pin the blame on him when his retaliation had been far more specific than the Wakahisa group as a whole. Honestly, they were _welcome _to Ueno; he'd thought it was a hellish place before, and nothing he'd seen recently changed his mind.

Shutting off the phone, he tossed it onto the desk as he crossed the room to stretch out on the bed. Hands pillowed behind his head, he schooled his body to relax even as his thoughts continued to spiral.

He'd take Shiki's job, but hardly out of obligation or even curiosity. He was just bored. It would do hum good to get out there among his humans again. And the only way to test the muscle of one's reality was to challenge it. If it punched you in the face just for trying, then you knew everything was going to be okay. Smiling up at the ceiling, he pretended his heart wasn't racing at the very thought of it.

_If you're really over this, then you won't mind me showing up in Ikebukuro again, ne, Shizu-chan? _

* * *

><p>Shinra, after a little 'encouragement', eventually came through with that yakuza guy's contact information. And after a little more coaxing he'd changed his mind about fobbing Shizuo off with a phone number – "It's all Celty would give me! Honest!" – and finally gave him an address for a backstreet gallery a few blocks away from Russia Sushi.<p>

He didn't know what was worse; walking through Ikebukuro with that goddamn gun wrapped in an old paper bag from a takeout place, or walking through Ikebukuro, period. He'd gotten better at it ever since he started working again, but the constant urge to look over his shoulder still did a number on his fraying temper and he'd lost count of the amount of times he'd started to call Tom or Vorona to cancel this stupid bakery trip today. It was one of his first days off since he started back; he'd be better off spending it trying to get his scattered thoughts together.

_Or just sit around all fucking day thinking about him. Tch…_

All he did know was that he didn't want to hang onto this thing any longer than he had to, and since the flea wouldn't have gotten it anywhere _else_… Not for the first time over the past couple of weeks he tried to imagine what the hell must have been going through the idiot's head when he decided he needed a gun in the first place. When it occurred to him that he might need to _use _it.

Probably that he only needed to do it at all because Shizuo was too fucking pathetic to do it himself. That he was pushed to some imaginary extreme because the guy who _should _have been taking care of this shit was too fricking scared to do a damn thing. So, same as everything else Izaya had done, it was ultimately Shizuo's fault. How the hell could he blame the flea for any of this, when he'd been the one giving the dumb louse even dumber ideas?

Well, at least he'd stopped it before Izaya did something fucking stupid. The kind of stupid he'd have to live with, anyway. The kind of stupid that changed a person. No doubt there'd be plenty of people who thought Izaya _needed _to be changed, or deserved all the shit that came his way. Hell knew the flea'd notched up enough brownie points with karma to deserve having his ass kicked a hundred times over, but… not like this. Not when it had never been his fight. And maybe Shizuo hadn't wanted the fight at all, but it was still right that he'd be the one to end it.

_All _of it. It had all been his mistake from the start, he'd been stupid to think Izaya'd ever be the one who backed down first. An asshole with a gun aimed his way hadn't been enough to make the flea back down; things Shizuo couldn't even articulate wouldn't stand a goddamned chance.

Izaya'd probably been right all along; Shizuo was just a dumb idiot. He _must_ have been if he hadn't even cared about that before. He got by okay, after all. Got by fricking _spectacularly _okay, all things considered, so it really hadn't mattered much that he wasn't as smart as the flea. Matching wits had been less important than matching his knuckles with Izaya's face. But now…

If he'd been smarter – Izaya's kind of smart – and if he'd known the right things to say, the right way to turn his words so the flea wound up doing exactly what he wanted without even realizing it, would he have been able to stop it sooner?

_Or maybe you never gave a fuck, huh flea? Maybe you'd have played your game anyway._

Yeah. And if he'd stepped up to the plate, there wouldn't have been a game to play.

Izaya'd done a lot of inexcusable things, but _nothing _was as unforgivable as that.

Something shifted in the atmosphere as he approached the nondescript building's entrance, and it was enough to distract him from unwelcome thoughts that it reminded him a little of that club across the street from Izaya's hole-in-the-wall sushi place. There was no one outside the austere industrial door, but a sixth-sense awareness that he was being watched anyway made his hackles rise. He couldn't see where the surveillance cameras were, but if Celty was right about this place then there had to be some. If she was wrong, or if the yakuza had moved their enterprise someplace else, and this really _was _a gallery he was standing in front of with a murder weapon in a burger joint bag, well…

Pissed off already, he rapped an aggravated rhythm on the door.

"Oi. Open up before I break this thing down."

He thought he heard the faint whirr of a camera lens in the moments before heavy locks began sliding and cranking on the other side of the door. Pretty fucking intense security for an art gallery. The hell were they keeping in there, the Mona-fricking-Lisa?

The guys that opened the door weren't exactly oil paintings either. Hands slipping conspicuously under the edge of tailored suits, they glared at him from the gloomy shadows of the entryway.

"State your business."

"None of fricking yours," he growled, leaning into the man's face. He was still a little rusty. There was still a small, meek little voice in the back of his head telling him not to do this, not to _push_, because he didn't know who he was pissing off, didn't know what they were capable of. But as long as no one tried to touch him, he figured he'd be okay. The need to rid himself of this goddamn incriminating evidence overrode any hesitation. "I wanna talk to your boss."

"He's busy," the door started to close in his face, "I suggest you go do the same. Somewhere else."

Both men at the door jumped back in a startled flinch, reaching instinctively for their guns, when Shizuo slammed the heel of his palm against the door to keep it from swinging shut. Taking advantage of their hesitation to stalk into what looked like some kind of sparse reception area, he tried to keep that insidious press of panic at bay long enough to take in his surroundings in case he needed to make a quick escape.

"How 'bout you tell him I'm here and we'll see how busy he is then, hah?"

And it only went to prove how dumb he really was when he hadn't even considered this scenario until the guns cocked with a metallic snick, their barrels aimed at his chest, and his heart rate kicked up so fast it left him struggling to breathe.

Last time a yakuza bastard held a gun in his direction, it was _him_.

_"I'll enjoy you after you've been warmed up a little, right Heiwajima-san? You, I wanna see ripped open around my dick so that you'll feel me forever. That'll be good, right?" _

Shit…

He couldn't fall apart in a place like this. Couldn't fall apart _period_, or he'd be on his knees on cold concrete again, veins swimming with something that left the world cloudy but never quite took the edge off the pain. Dragging a hand over his face in an effort to clear his vision, he tried to ignore the sweat trickling between his shoulder blades.

This was nothing like last time. These were two Ikebukuro small fry. He could handle this.

_And that's what you thought last time. You can't handle anything. And do you think anyone's going to waste their time picking up the pieces a second time?_

The Awakusu goons were staring at him warily, but it was all Shizuo could do to keep sucking enough air into his lungs to keep the dizziness that nagged the corners of his awareness at bay.

_You should never have come here. What the fuck were you thinking? You can't do this._

"O-oi…" One of the men began to step forward, unsettled by the way Shizuo could barely breathe let alone answer, and that was all it took for his unravelling composure to snap altogether.

"Stay the fuck away from me…!"

He didn't even know where he was aiming when he threw a blind, desperate punch, just that it connected with _something_, and that was enough. The man stumbled back against a neatly untouched reception desk, gun flailing wildly, but it took several sluggish moments to recognize that high-pitched zipping sound for what it was. The last few times he'd heard a gunshot they'd been a hell of a lot louder, but at least this time the bullets slammed harmlessly into the wall behind him, leaving an arc of holes in the brickwork.

The second man lifted his gun, aiming it shakily at his face, and a dangerously dumb combination of blind terror and incandescent rage had Shizuo calculating how long he might have to throw another punch before the bullet hit.

_It'd be pretty fucking funny, huh flea…? You saving my ass just for me to go do the same damn thing all over again…_

…sorry.

Across the reception area, an office door opened calmly. The man standing in the doorway said something to whoever was on the other end of his cell phone call, but Shizuo was still too dazed to make it out.

"Sir! Stay in your office, it's too dangerous!"

Shiki held up a hand to dismiss the warning, never quite turning his attention from the phone. Shizuo doubted the guy was the type who'd ever truly take his eye off the ball over anything.

"If I were you," the yakuza spoke mildly to whoever was on the other end of the line, "I'd shut up before those five jobs became ten. Someone'll send you the details shortly. Now if you'll excuse me, it seems I have other business to attend to."

"Sir…" One of the goons began hesitantly as soon as Shiki hung up. "You can't possibly think that—"

"It's fine. Heiwajima-san isn't here to cause trouble." A cool frown slid his way. "Are you?"

Shizuo scowled under the scrutiny. "I'll start thinking about it if your guard dogs don't back the fuck off."

"You heard him." Shiki nodded towards his men, the second of whom was trying to help the first to his feet. "Do I need to remind you again that we extend a civil welcome to guests here?"

"N-no Sir."

"My apologies, Heiwajima-san." The yakuza inclined his head towards the office behind him, expecting Shizuo to follow as he turned to saunter back inside. "Unfortunately you have that sort of effect on my men."

"Tch…" He had that sort of effect on pretty much everyone, 'cept when it came to stuff that mattered. Trying to stop the shivering that vibrated uncontrollably just under his skin, he focused on putting on foot in front of the other as he followed. "I'm not here to pick fights with the yakuza."

Shiki took a seat behind a wide desk in a room that was, like the reception area outside, devoid of any artwork on the walls. A few canvasses lay at strategic angles against the walls, but Shizuo suspected they hadn't seen a lick of paint since they'd been put there. No fucking wonder the flea associated with this guy; they were both good at putting on a phoney act to fool people into thinking they were something they weren't. "I'm glad to hear it. What can I do for you, Heiwajima-san?"

The gun hadn't weighed much of anything, but it still felt like fifteen tons had been lifted off his shoulders when he set the bag down on the man's desk. Even the iron band that crushed around his lungs loosened a little, letting him breathe. "I'm guessing this is yours."

Shiki eyed him thoughtfully, dragging the bag closer with one finger and with the subtle caution of a man who'd probably dealt with one too many suspect packages with his name on it, unfurled the folded paper edge. An inscrutable expression knit his brows as he saw what was inside. "Is there any point my asking why you have this when you're not the one who 'borrowed' it?"

Shizuo shrugged. "Not really."

The older man nodded. "In that case, thank you for returning it. It's… inconvenient for us to have things like this floating around. Who knows what can be traced back to us that way." Something in Shiki's tone made it quite clear the yakuza knew exactly what might be traced back. Shizuo had no idea how information travelled in the underground circles of rival yakuza groups, but it seemed pretty likely that some big-shot biting it in a rooftop shoot-out might make the news.

"Yeah, well…" He turned to leave. "Just wanted to get rid of the damn thing."

"Heiwajima-san."

Pausing at the door, he glanced back. "Huh?"

Lips a grim line behind steepled fingers, Shiki watched him carefully for a moment, before picking up the gun. With deft movements Shizuo could barely follow, the older man unclipped the magazine, his brow furrowing slightly at whatever he saw.

"Just one shot. Impressive." Shiki looked up. "Frankly, I wasn't convinced he had it in him."

Shizuo shook his head. Izaya _didn't_ have it in him, thank fuck, but that was no one else's business. He wasn't even certain it was his anymore. Whether it had _ever _been. Yanking the door open, scowling at the two bodyguards standing wary sentry outside, he glanced back and shrugged instead. "Neither was I."

No one tried to stop him leaving. Hell, they were probably glad to see him go. It had started to rain while he'd been inside, but he pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and squinted at the bleak light anyway, patting down his pockets for his cigarettes as he walked away.

It was over with that, right? No one else knew what went on that night; there was nothing left to link them to it all. They'd gotten away with it. They were safe.

Except he didn't think safe was meant to feel quite this hollow.

Ducking his head against the rain, he tried to shake off the thoughts as he headed back towards the busier parts of the city to meet Tom and Vorona.

He still half-wished he could cancel. His nerves were still jangling a discordant rhythm through his skittish thoughts, and the last place he wanted to be if he blew up like that again was in public. No, the last place he wanted to be if that happened again was in front of his _friends_. Tom and Vorona had been stupidly careful since he got back. Maybe neither of them were prone to overly emotional displays, but even he could tell when they measured and edited their words every damn time they opened their mouths around him. He'd promised he'd turn up, and as worried as he'd made his colleagues over the past few weeks he owed them at least that much. The least he could do was _try _for them, and pretend he was okay.

Eventually, he hoped it might make him start to believe it too.

They were waiting for him at the corner near Russia Sushi as planned, huddling under an umbrella, but the oddly disappointed look Tom sent Shizuo's way as soon as he caught sight of him wasn't exactly the glad-to-see-you kind. He felt his gaze drop a little as he approached, shoulders hunching like maybe if he made himself smaller they wouldn't even notice he was there. Wouldn't notice all the things he'd done. All the tension that had unwound itself from his throat between the yakuza's den and here coiled chokingly tight around his words all over again. "What's going on?"

Had they found out? Did they know what happened to him? Had the goddamn flea—

"The manager called, he needs to see me about some paperwork." Tom rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. "I'm going to have to cancel today."

Breathing again as those terrifying shackles fell away, Shizuo tried not to look as relieved as he felt. "Ah, that's okay. We can do it some other time."

"I affirm, rescheduling the only satisfactory solution." Vorona nodded. "However it has already been rejected."

"Huh?"

"Well, there's no point in all of us missing out, right?" Tom shrugged. "If I'm done early I'll drop by, but you two go enjoy yourselves. Ah, and you might as well take this." He handed over his umbrella, waving over his shoulder as he scurried off through the rain. "I'll pick up another one from the office on the way back."

"Oi, Tom…!"

"Tanaka-senpai unswayed in his decision."

"Tch, I guess so…" And he knew why, too. Just more of the walking on eggshells around him these two'd been doing all damn week, probably to the point where Tom thought rearranging a trip to a fricking cake shop was likely to set Shizuo off.

He knew they were only thinking of him, but shit…

_It was easier with you. Not that you paid much goddamn attention when I told you to back off, but at least I never thought you'd take it the wrong way…_

Sighing under his breath, he turned in the direction of the bakery. If he got this over with, if he could somehow see it through without losing his shit and breaking anything, then they might relax and go a little easier on him. "Ah, he's probably right, huh? And he doesn't need us tagging along just for some paperwork…"

Except that they were his bodyguards. And they weren't much use at that while they picked out samples of flans and gateaux and macarons, and he tried not to jump every time someone clashed their plates together, or tried not to see damp Ueno rooftops when some dumb kid popped one of the 'Grand Opening' balloons festooned around the counter.

"He'll be okay by himself, right?" They'd taken the furthest table from the window, and if Vorona thought it was odd she didn't say anything. 'Course, 'odd' coming from him right now was pretty subjective… "Maybe we should've gone too?"

"Tanaka-senpai did not seem troubled by work request." Vorona shrugged. "However, should Senpai believe our presence is required this is no problem. Bakery is hosting grand opening, not grand closing. Visiting again would be possible in future."

Yeah, and he could just imagine Tom's reaction if they showed up, disappointed that Shizuo couldn't even see a goddamn afternoon through without being too fucking neurotic about imaginary bogeymen to sit still…

"Nah." He forced a smile, pretending to attack the slice of chocolate cake he'd chosen with gusto, like food in general tasted of something more than wet cardboard lately. "I'm just over-reacting. He'll be fine."

Vorona nodded, slicing delicate, methodical pieces from her strawberry cheesecake. "Tanaka-senpai sure to contact if assistance is required. Worry is unnecessary."

"Yeah…"

Even though it was his damn default state these days. He'd always known the world was a fucked-up place, but the day he started perceiving a kid in a bakery with a balloon as a genuine threat was the day he needed to be somewhere far away from people.

_Somewhere safe, where I can't hurt anyone…_

Poking absently at his cake, he felt his mind wander again. Izaya'd have hated this place as much as he hated the fast food restaurants. If that dark, cramped Shinjuku place was the kind of atmosphere the flea genuinely liked – assuming the whole thing hadn't just been some attempt to piss Shizuo off – how the hell had he tolerated repeated trips to every burger joint within a mile radius of his apartment?

_He didn't, remember? He complained about it all the fricking time._

But whatever other stunt the flea'd pulled while Shizuo'd been under the influence, he didn't think the sushi restaurant was one of them. Not when he took into account the day it happened. _Why _it happened. Why Izaya decided they needed to go out someplace at all.

_And maybe you're still kidding yourself. He's a shifty goddamn liar, you know that. He probably had it all plotted out to the nth degree from the start._

Still, it was weird that he remembered some of the dumbest stuff. Even the rain on the café window reminded him of that night at Izaya's apartment when it felt like the whole world was someplace else. That morning, he'd caught himself staring at his broken reflection in the few shards of his bathroom mirror that were still attached to the wall, transfixed by the hint of dark regrowth at the roots of his hair. At least ten minutes had ticked by before he shook himself out of it, and reminded himself he'd been thinking of just growing it out anyway. He didn't want to fix it again if it meant remembering the last time.

Even he recognized running away for what it was, but no other answer he came up with promised the immediate sort of relief that came with plain, dumb avoidance. Nothing else let him get up in the morning, go to work, fake a smile for his friends and just not think about every goddamn stupid mistake they'd made.

_I keep wanting to ask you, though… which one was the biggest, hah? The way you started it, or the way I ended it?_

A small tug on his sleeve distracted him from his thoughts, and habits formed unthinkingly over the past few weeks made him turn his hands, beginning to curl his fingers around the touch.

"Flea, what're you—?"

_Oh, shit. _

Vorona stared at him, and something in her gaze made the half-smile he hadn't even realized he was smiling freeze on his lips.

"…Senpai?"

He didn't know which one of them snatched their hand back quickest.

"Sorry, I…" He shook his head. "I wasn't thinking."

Or thinking too fucking much. About the wrong fucking things. Again.

Vorona nodded, but every time he glanced up she was watching him cautiously. He'd seen that look in her eyes before, whenever they were dealing with a client who was liable to ambush them with fuck knew what rather than pay up. It was a little disconcerting to have it aimed his way instead.

"Hey, Vorona… you ever read anything about how to fix things when all you keep doing is fucking it all up worse?"

"Many manuals on repair have been read." Vorona tilted her head. "However, such books assume that no error will be made if one follows their instruction. Whether manual exists for Senpai's predicament… I cannot say."

"Yeah, that seems about right, huh…?"

She watched him silently for a moment, while Shizuo drew vague patterns on his plate with the chocolate sauce and the edge of his fork. There was something oddly relaxing about just how blunt she was sometimes, and he doubted this'd be any exception. After all the flea's mind games, it was nice not to have to read between the lines of something as brutally honest as, "Senpai's absence relates to Izaya Orihara."

Glancing up, he shook his head. "Nah, it didn't have anything to do with him. Not really."

"Answer is paradoxical. Both outcomes cannot co-exist. Impossibility."

Except when it came to the flea, nothing much seemed impossible. Shizuo figured he was doing a bang-up job at wanting to punch Izaya's face in and wanting to go back to that morning when he should have said they were just gonna stay in bed instead at the same time. Of wanting to blame the flea for the whole fucking mess and wanting someone to tell him how the hell he was meant to save him from it too.

He shook his head again. "It's got nothing to do with him. I told you, I got into some trouble, that's all. Just needed to lay low for a while. No big deal. And it's no one else's fault but mine, got that?" 'Cause he had the sinking feeling if he didn't make that part clear she'd be scaring the crap out of him with imaginative ways to kill again…

Vorona didn't look too happy about it, but eventually nodded slightly. "Affirmative."

"Good."

"However Senpai should have sought assistance. Dealing with such matters, no problem."

"Yeah, I know." He smiled a little at the confidence in her voice, wishing he could feel that sure about _anything _anymore. Shit, he didn't feel that certain about choosing which of his identical bartender uniforms to wear on any given morning. "I just didn't want you guys getting involved, that's all. Like I said, it was my mistake. No one else should be paying for that."

_No one, flea. Not even you._

"Anyway, it's all taken care of now." Cutting off a sticky chunk of cake, he chewed it thoughtfully, never really tasting it. "It's over. So don't worry about it, okay?"

The conversation shifted to safer, less demanding territory after that – his first week back, and how he was miraculously managing to rein in his temper around clients – but every now and then he caught her watching him with that unfathomable expression, like she was convinced someone had replaced him with a clone but couldn't figure out how to prove it yet. If Celty had a head, he thought, it'd be the exact same look she'd given him when he told her he was staying with Izaya of his own free will. The same look Shinra gave him when he refused to leave Izaya's side until the flea came to, and wouldn't stick around to talk to him afterwards.

_Everyone you know thinks it's fucking crazy except the craziest bastard you've even known. Take the hint._

They waited as long as they could for Tom, but when the gloom outside darkened to a murky grey and all that remained in the patisserie counter were a couple of sad looking slices of strawberry tart, it seemed safe to call it a day. The rain was still lashing down as they stood under the café canopy.

"C'mon, I'll walk you home."

"Unnecessary." Vorona shook her head. "I am familiar with street's layout. Navigation can be completed without assistance, no problem."

She was, and it could, and he had no doubt she could take care of herself, but… he'd thought he was okay on familiar streets. He'd thought he could take care of himself. He'd thought it was no problem too.

Was this how it was gonna be from now on? Hovering over his friends, terrified that one wrong move, and…

"Tch." Opening up Tom's umbrella, he held it over both of them. "Like I'm gonna let you walk off with this while I get soaked? Not a chance in hell."

"Dividing umbrella problematic." Vorona agreed, falling into step at his side as they walked away from the shelter of the café's overhang. "However Senpai inconvenienced. Not acceptable."

"Ah, it's no big deal."

Less inconvenient than sitting at home wondering if anything had happened to her, anyway. It was bad enough wondering where Tom was, whether he'd really been held up at work or whether some Ueno punk had tracked down Shizuo's friends anyway, whether he believed it was all behind him or not. Whether anyone had tailed him when he handed Izaya over to Celty, whether she'd been followed home. Whether she and Shinra were safe, or whether he'd be to blame if someone decided to take his mistakes out on them.

_And you… god-fucking-dammit Izaya, tell me you were lying all along. Tell me it was a game, tell me you were fucking with me. 'Cause if you can't tell me that I did the right thing by waking away, then…_

If he'd been paying attention, he'd have noticed that the curb-side they'd paused at was right next to a wide puddle of dirty rainwater. But he hadn't and he didn't, at least not until a rust-bucket sedan came tearing down the road, tires sending up a tsunami of greyish water as it roared past.

"The fuck..?"

At least he was tall enough to be spared the worst of it; it got most of his pants and soaked halfway up his chest, but that was about all. Vorona on the other hand, looked like she'd just gone ten rounds with the log flume ride at the funfair. Muttering something in Russian that sounded intimidating even if he had no clue what she said, she wiped rainwater from her eyes and stared icily down the street as the car screeched around a corner out of sight.

"Incidents of road rage not acceptable in Japanese society. Pity."

Incidents of _any _rage, not that it had even stopped him before. Unfortunately, nothing within grabbing distance would follow the car around the corner like a heat seeking missile, and it was probably safer not to suggest that. Given the look of consternation in Vorona's eyes and her fondness for crazyass weapons…

"Tch… come on, my place's closer. We can dry off there. Tom'll kill me if we're both off sick with colds tomorrow."

"Cold is a misnomer," Vorona said, sounding totally unaffected by the whole thing, although she didn't argue as she followed him. "Not caused by any effect of temperature. Rather the result of virus transmission. Only direct illness caused by low temperature is hypothermia and frostbite."

"Yeah well, he'll be mad if we get those too." Grimacing as he wrung water out of the front of his shirt, he scowled in the general direction of that car. If he ran, he could probably catch up with the asshole of a driver. Maybe shove his fricking face into the gutter, see how he liked it.

Tch, he really should have written today off as soon as he woke up and forgot, like he had every damned morning, if only for a split second, that he wasn't in Izaya's spare room anymore…

"Senpai?"

"Ah?"

"Despite inaccuracy of potential for health hazard as a result of this incident, I wish to express gratitude for Senpai's consideration."

Shizuo blinked. "Huh?"

"Books on etiquette state that an expression of gratitude is required when injury or other suffering to well-being is avoided due to another person."

"An…?" Shizuo looked up, something about the street coming into sharp relief as the implications of that finally hit home.

_Oh, fuck…_

He hadn't even bothered with a 'thank you' for the flea putting himself between Shizuo and a bullet, had he? All the desperate shit he said or thought while Izaya was bleeding out all over that rooftop didn't count, not when he'd walked away and left Shinra's place that day without even telling the flea he was thankful. That he knew what Izaya'd done for him.

That he got it, even if he didn't know why.

_You don't love me, flea, but that doesn't mean the stuff you did for me doesn't matter._

"An expression of gratitude," Vorona repeated, a small furrow between her brows as though the whole concept still confused her, and Shizuo figured that if none of the smart people he knew could figure this mess out, that didn't exactly bode well. "According to investigation, this is intended to promote a sense of contentment in provider and recipient." Something brightened in her eyes, like she'd found the example that proved the abstract theory. "Occurs often when Senpai does not bring his fist into contact with client's face."

Shizuo snorted a soft laugh despite himself. "Tch, they're not content, they're just glad they're still fricking breathing…"

And even though every single one hurt so fucking bad lately, so was he. And Izaya was the only thing that let him keep doing that.

He wasn't even sure he was thinking about the bullet anymore. So many fucking times over the past weeks and months where all he'd wanted to do was quit. Just… walk away. Knowing Izaya was responsible for his 'accidental' meeting with the guy who'd ended up under the truck changed things, but nothing would change the fact that he'd been the only place Shizuo wanted to go afterwards, when his guilt and his cowardice vied for control. The only _other _place, but even if he'd tried hurling himself off a building, knowing him he'd have screwed it up.

_But I didn't choose that. I chose you. Fuck, Izaya…_

"What if you've left it too damn long to bother?"

"I am unaware of any specific time limit." Vorona looked at him curiously. "Senpai has benefited from an act deserving of gratitude?"

No, he'd benefited from an act deserving of getting on his goddamn knees and begging. And if it was anyone else, he already would be.

At his slight nod Vorona looked strangely satisfied even though she wouldn't meet his eyes. "Senpai will do as he deems necessary. Senpai is a person who shows kindness to others."

A while ago he might have reached out to ruffle her hair at that sort of statement. He couldn't do it now, not when touching anything other than soft black hair felt foreign to his fingers. But he could muster up a smile as he shook his head.

"Tch… I really have been gone too long if you've started making stuff like that up about me."

* * *

><p>Shiki's 'details' turned out to be nothing more than some low-key surveillance job, the kind of work he could have forced any grunting underling to take care of. It was as ridiculous a waste of Izaya's skill set as making a surgeon chop the vegetables for some hotpot.<p>

Hmm. Was this the sort of under-appreciation that Namie felt all the time? Izaya made a mental note to give his secretary a raise. A small one. This feeling would certainly explain her propensity for complaining and criticising his every move, because of course nothing he actually did _deserved _the wrath she aimed his way…

He supposed he could call her back to work officially now. There was nothing important to keep off her radar, after all. Ah, he'd deal with that just as soon as he could deal with the thought of sleeping anywhere other than his unwelcoming hotel bed. There was plenty of time. He had no pet projects taking up every waking moment anymore, he could return his attentions to where they should have been all along; on the important things. His work, his plans, his future.

At least dull surveillance jobs meant he could ensconce himself in the relative anonymity of an Ikebukuro coffee shop out of the rain and watch the world go by. It was far better than the alternative. Crossing paths accidentally with Shizu-chan wouldn't be pleasant, especially when the protozoan would never believe it _was _an accident, that Izaya was only here paying off the debt that had allowed them both to walk away from this and back into their ordinary worlds.

Part of him just didn't want to test that ordinary world this soon. Everything would be okay with the universe if Shizu-chan yelled at him, picked up the nearest municipal street fixture and threw it his way. Everything would be the way it was meant to be. But if Shizuo ignored him, or worse, looked at him with that wounded, pitiful expression he'd seen in those brown eyes as the blond turned away on that rooftop…

_I can't rely on you to play your part properly, ne, Shizu-chan? Because you're an unpredictable monster and you've never done what I wanted you to do._

His target had nothing to do with the Wakahisa, so he supposed his day was looking up in that regard. Just another corrupt businessman who was dealing in insider security information. Bored within ten minutes, Izaya had spent most of the afternoon digging up more dirt on his cell-phone browser than any amount of spying would yield. As easy as it all was, he couldn't help but think Shiki-san might have had ulterior motives for this specific duty.

_Now, why would you possibly want me here in Ikebukuro like a sitting duck, ne, Shiki-san…?_

Still, bored and irritated as he was, he couldn't think of anything better to do either. If, in some odd parallel dimension this turned out to be a _real _job, at least he'd done his homework should Shiki need any follow-up information. Izaya had everything sitting in his phone already, right down to the target's children's school records…

Judging by the fact no one mentioned them, he supposed Hanako and Megumi had taken his advice, taken the money and were living it up far, far away from Tokyo. It was nice in Kyoto this time of year, maybe Hanako had decided to take her daughter to see the cherry blossoms. Or maybe they'd travelled even further west, found some town in the countryside where it was easier to forget the yakuza ever existed.

_Ah, but I think I understand now, Hanako-chan… sometimes it doesn't matter how far you go, ne? Some things you just can't run from._

He supposed it made him foolish, then, to keep trying that method and hoping this time it'd work. That this time something would change in his thinking, that this time something else would be enough to distract him. That _this time _he could somehow go back and undo it all, tell the him from months ago that he really was better off with a broken Shizuo Heiwajima than one beyond even Izaya's influence.

He wasn't fond of admitting he'd made mistakes, but learning from them was only sensible, ne? There was no shame in that.

It was still raining when he gave up for the day, leaving the café and strolling casually through the downpour towards the station, his hood down. It was quite the obstruction when it came to making sure you weren't being followed, and anyway… he liked the thought of the rain on his face. Each tiny, cold pinprick against his skin cleared his head.

Which was why he couldn't imagine how he ended up veering away from his designated path towards the station, somehow winding up on a grubby little side-street in front of a familiar apartment building.

He was just checking on his investment, that was all. That dangerous animal he'd returned to the wild needed to be monitored now and then, ne, just to make sure it was still thriving and that all his hard work hadn't been in vain. He wasn't going to announce his presence; he really didn't feel like dragging himself over to Shinra's today to set a broken nose, or bind up a broken rib. No, he'd just… wait and watch.

The dull ache from his healing wound mocked him in every throb as he made his way up the steps towards Shizuo's door, and he would have skipped the last few paces in retaliation if not for the way Shinra was sure to berate him for tearing his stitches while he patched up whatever else Shizu-chan decided to inflict on him for showing up on his doorstep uninvited.

If he even got as far as the doorstep. Smiling wryly to himself, he lifted his hand to knock at the door, ignoring the way it trembled. It was cold, and wet; of course he'd be shaking.

But the blonde who answered the door wasn't the one he expected.

"Ohh?" Regaining his composure quickly – but maybe not quickly enough; that look in icy eyes was awfully shrewd… - he shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels, the picture of unaffected disinterest. "Seems like I'm disturbing the lovebirds, ne?"

Arms folding across the chest of a t-shirt that seemed to be several sizes too big, the Russian girl shook her head. "Senpai does not possess any avian pets, therefore it is impossible to disturb them." Vorona narrowed her eyes. "Explanation is demanded for your presence."

A part of him that had shut down to avoid any further damage couldn't even remember his name, let alone what he was doing here. When Shiki-san had implied Shizuo was settling back into his daily life, this wasn't exactly what Izaya had imagined.

Ah, there were probably a million reasons why Shizuo's attractive female colleague might be answering the door of his apartment, dressed in an oversized shirt and rolled up sweatpants that weren't hers. None of them were any of Izaya's concern anymore. Shizu-chan had been released back into the wild, ne? He was free to frolic and mate with whatever caught his eye. Frankly, having experienced what passed for Shizuo's technique, he should have been feeling sorry for her…

_You should never have come here. What on earth were you thinking? You can't do this._

Clearly deciding Izaya had regressed into some imbecile who couldn't even speak – which, humiliatingly, wasn't that far from the truth… - Vorona stared at him, chin raised. Ah, it was so sweet that the rabid dog had an even more protective guard, it really was… "Senpai is unavailable."

_I'm sure he is. _

"Senpai is attending to necessary ablutions. Nox— Izaya Orihara is free to await elsewhere until Senpai decides whether to tolerate his presence."

"Oh, no, don't let me get in the way." With a mock-bow, he backed up, ignoring the odd fluttering sensation somewhere between his heart and his stomach as he turned to stroll back along the landing. "As bad as he is at it, he needs all the help he can get, ne? I'll come by some other time when he's not entertaining."

Because everything was fine, ne? He nodded to himself as he hurried down the steps, his side protesting every step with sharp jabs of pain. This was exactly what he'd wanted, even though he hadn't known it at the time.

He'd wanted proof that things were back to normal.

He'd wanted a reason to give up.

_Message received, Shizu-chan…_

He jumped a little when the phone in his pocket vibrated with a muted ringtone just as he thought that. Surely it wouldn't be…?

_Che, how pathetic. _

It wasn't Shizuo. It never would have been, because Shizuo had no reason to call him anymore. Instead, Izaya found himself blinking to clear his vision as he frowned at the unrecognized yet unpleasantly familiar number scrolling across the screen.

Well… no time like the present to deal with his second most irritating concern, ne?

"Kei-kun," he greeted breezily as he answered. "You know, I was almost missing hearing your dulcet whining, how _did _you know?"

"Hey, Orihara-san." Kei didn't seem moved by his sarcasm. That, or it went right over his scheming, would-have-been-proud-of-him-if-he-wasn't-such-an-insufferable-brat head. Given the Wakahisa's general lack of a sense of humour, Izaya supposed he shouldn't have expected much… "Given any more thought to your situation?"

Smiling at the dark, Izaya nodded. "As a matter of fact, Kei-kun, I have."

"Glad you saw things my way." Kei sounded awfully pleased with himself. "Guess you just couldn't let loverboy suffer, right?"

"On the contrary, Kei-kun, right now I'd be perfectly happy if he did."

"Huh?"

"Do whatever you want with those photographs. Put them in the newspaper for all I care, though I warn you now I don't think he can actually read."

Kei was silent for a moment. "But I thought—"

_So did I._

"Unfortunately, you were wrong. So have fun, ne? I bet someone will pay you to take those pictures off your hands. Humans do have some twisted tastes sometimes, but I don't suppose I need to tell _you _that."

And there was nothing left to defend, ne? Shizu-chan hadn't just refused his attempts, he'd gone out of his way in the past two weeks to make it clear they weren't wanted. There was something bitterly ironic in all the times Shizuo had accused him of playing games when the blond was the one who'd left Izaya at Shinra's without a word. When it was Shizuo who'd gone back to a normal life Izaya yearned for. When it was Shizuo taking everything Izaya'd given back to him and just handed it over to someone else.

So he was sure Shizuo could deal with whatever fallout would come from Kei's elementary-school scheming. Shizuo had everything right back the way he wanted it, after all.

"You're joking, right?" Kei said, voice pitching up an octave. "You really want those pictures of your boyfriend all over the city?"

"He's not my boyfriend. And I don't care."

_I don't care…_

"Heh, didn't look that way to me."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Kei-kun, but I think I'd know if he was, ne? Besides…" Izaya grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he forced a sly chuckle into his voice. "You've seen those photos, ne? Why would I want damaged goods like that?"

"If you're bluffing or something, then—"

"I don't bluff, Kei-kun. If you can wait until I get home, I'll even set up an account on the Dollars forum for you, ne? That way you can get maximum exposure."

Really, it was a generous offer. Maybe Kei didn't realize how much of an honour it was to be granted access to the endless stream of droning boredom that was the Dollars message boards, because it took him several attempts just to splutter "You're gonna fucking regret this…!"

If Izaya's patience wasn't already a sliver on a knife edge, he might have found the over-the-top temper-tantrum theatrics endearing. But he was tired of Kei's ranting; he'd been right the first time, the brat was years too early to be wasting his time.

Shutting off the call, Izaya spared Shizuo's apartment one last look before lifting up his hood and turning to walk away. It wasn't raining anymore, but he liked the obscurity offered by the matted fur.

_Going to regret it, Kei-kun? No, you've got it all wrong…_

_I already do._

* * *

><p>There wasn't much to sell Shizuo's apartment to any prospective new tenant. It was old, and small, freezing in winter and chokingly hot in summer. But someone had seen fit to put the AC in the bathroom at the perfect angle to the vent that it dried clothes in a stupidly short amount of time. Whoever had lived here before him must have figured it out too, because there was an old, unsafe looking hook in the ceiling that let him hang things right in the flow of heated air.<p>

Once he was done with a shower to warm himself up – not that the hot water really lasted enough for two people, but it was only right to let Vorona have the bathroom first – he arranged their clothes on the makeshift rack and hoped for the best.

He figured that, at a push, Vorona could just borrow the clothes he'd lent her to go home in, but given that it was mostly his fault her stuff was still drying in the bathroom right now, he kinda wanted to know everything was okay first. If he'd been paying attention, if his mind had been on where they were instead of where he wanted to be, then…

_Tch. _

"They won't take long, probably." Dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, he scrubbed his hair dry as he stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the fridge. "You sure that stuff's okay for you?"

Vorona nodded. He'd accidentally mixed up some of his clothes and Kasuka's last time they'd both been at their parents for some holiday or other – which just went to show how fricking long it had been since he saw his brother's face anywhere other than a TV screen… – and never got around to sending them back. They were still too big, but at least they didn't swamp her the way his clothes would have.

"Affirmative. All is acceptable. However, imposition for any excessive length of time cannot be done."

"Ah, don't worry about it. You want a drink or something?" He peered into the fridge. "Oh, but there's only milk…"

"Negative." Then, "A visitor came while Senpai was occupied in the bathroom."

"Huh? Wait a sec, don't go answering the door like that…!"

Vorona blinked at him. "The method of opening doors is unsatisfactory? I am unaware of any other procedure beyond turning the handle and extending a greeting. Please inform of differentiating protocols."

"No, I mean…" He gestured vaguely in her direction, before giving up with a sigh. It probably wasn't a big deal anyway, but if that Shiki guy had found out where he lived with little difficulty, then it wouldn't be much trouble for someone who _really _wanted to track him down, right? And he should have made it clear to her before he left her alone that she shouldn't answer the door to anyone, even if it'd mean having to explain that maybe things weren't quite as 'over' as he desperately wished they were. "Never mind." Ducking back into the fridge, he reached for the milk. "Who was it, anyway?"

"Noxious insect known as Izaya Orihara."

The milk carton half slipped from his grip. "What? He was here?"

Vorona nodded. "When informed Senpai was availing himself of the bathroom facilities, response provided was that his purpose here would be attempted again at a later date when Senpai was not occupied with the task of entertaining." She looked a little puzzled. "Attempt was made to inform that Senpai has not recently altered occupations to become a performer, however the noxious insect had already departed."

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit…_

It was a fucked up day when he'd have preferred half the damn yakuza in the city converging on his doorstep than Izaya showing up out of the blue. More fucked up than usual.

"What did he want?"

"This information was not divulged. However, taking into account his appearance at Senpai's home, requesting information of Senpai's location and activity, it would be safe to presume the noxious insect wished to contact Senpai on some undisclosed matter."

"And you didn't try to kill him, huh?"

Vorona shook her head solemnly. "Senpai has expressed disapproval of this method of extermination."

"Yeah…"

What the hell had Izaya come here for? Obviously it wasn't for _him_, 'cause Shizuo wouldn't have gone within a mile of someone who'd been as much of a bastard to him as he'd been to the flea, so… information? A warning? Had Izaya found out what Shizuo already knew, that one way or another this mess was going to bite them on the ass?

"How long since he left?"

"Approximately five minutes."

"Okay." Tossing the towel onto the couch, he paused at the door to put on his shoes, leaving the laces untied. "Anyone comes to the door that isn't me, you don't answer, got it?"

"Affirmative." Vorona watched him, confused. "Senpai—"

"Look, I'll… explain later, okay? Right now I need to know what he wanted. So please, just…" Dragging a hand through still-damp hair, he shook his head. "Stay here till I know it's safe, all right?"

"Understood." She nodded. "I will remain here until Senpai clarifies the situation."

Shizuo doubted she understood at all. He didn't even _want _her to; she was too smart for baseless, paranoid fear like this, but even if she was only humouring him, even if she was only trying to keep him from flying into an inescapable rage, it was enough.

"Thanks…"

It had stopped raining, but the street outside was still unnaturally dark for the early evening. Ignoring all the ways the shadows seemed to shift and move, like something was lurking in every one, watching him, waiting for him, he began to run the second his feet hit the sidewalk.

Izaya'd probably head for the station from here, so that was the direction he took. He considered the fact that maybe the flea was on his way to Shinra's, and as such was going in the opposite direction, but that'd have made Shizuo's place the first port of call. Not fucking likely.

It took a couple of rain-soaked blocks, his feet wet from running through the puddles in shoes without socks, and his hair drying cold enough the make him shiver before he caught sight of a flash of black and tan in the streetlamp's glare.

Just like that night. Of all the other things he wished he could forget, he remembered black and tan and streetlights then, too. Just like he remembered the way something lurched in his stomach at the sight of the Izaya's silhouette, even though the circumstances were different. Something about this scared him just as much at that long-gone suspicion that maybe Izaya had a hand in the attack. That the flea was just there to gloat. That he'd never escape the relentless assault of just how much they fricking loathed each other.

_What if I'm still scared of that, huh?_

Slowing his pace, he strode in the flea's direction. "Oi, Izaya…"

The flea half turned. "Oh? Shizu-chan followed me? A word of advice, ne? Women hate it when your attention is elsewhere, especially when it's on someone else. Possibly more so when said woman is liable to murder you in your sleep for it later. So best you get back, ne? Before you wake up tomorrow with your balls for earrings."

"Tch… I don't know what the fuck you think is going on, but you're wrong."

Izaya turned his back as he continued to walk. "Why are you assuming it matters to me either way?"

"'Cause…"

'Cause it did, right? 'Cause the flea'd somehow gotten it into his head that a couple of weeks was long enough for Shizuo to decide he was over that whole touch averse thing to the point where he could imagine anyone else doing it but the fricking idiot in front of him. That he could imagine anything under his fingers but pale skin and black hair and that goddamn infuriating smile...

But maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it was Izaya who was over whatever it was that made him think Shizuo was an entertaining experiment.

"What did you want, anyway?"

Izaya stopped, the fur of his hood shushing softly as he shrugged. "Ah, I wonder."

"Flea—"

"Go home, Shizu-chan." Izaya's tone was sharp. "You don't need to concern yourself with this."

"So what, you show up outta nowhere for no good reason and I'm supposed to just think nothing's going on? Hah?"

_You show up just to fucking walk away again?_

"I got what I came for, ne?" A soft laugh drifted from beneath the hood. "So there's no need to keep chasing after me, Shizu-chan, not that you were very good at it. I'm only here working, and now I'm leaving, so don't let me keep you."

He'd never been Izaya's _to _keep, so why did it feel like the flea'd just knifed that flickblade of his through the only lifeline he had to cling to?

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"You came here for something, right? You don't do shit like this without there being some fucking shady reason for it. So what do you want?"

"What do I want?" Izaya turned towards him, pushing off the hood as he shook his head. "Ah, Shizu-chan, if I knew that, then—"

In the pocket of his sweatpants, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. But for a second, he'd thought it was a mistake, because Izaya frowned too, reaching into his coat pocket for his cell. And in the gloom of the streetlight, he watched those red eyes widen with the sort of panic he'd only seen once before.

"Oi, Izaya—"

"Don't." The flea shook his head desperately, stumbling a little in his urgency to hurry towards him. "Don't answer it, Shizu-chan, it's—"

But it was tough after years of conditioning not to glance at your phone when a message demanded your attention. That was why the made those ringtones sound so annoying that you wanted to put your fist through the nearest lamppost every time you heard one, right? So you couldn't help _but _look.

With every line of pixels that unfurled itself across his screen, though, he wished he hadn't. All he could think, as every memory of every cold grip of every hand in the picture slammed into him all over again, was that it was all pointless. They'd all find out how badly he failed anyway. There was nowhere left to run _to_.

"Flea…" Swallowing past the nausea catching in his throat, all he could do was whisper. "What the fuck is this…?"

"Insurance." A new voice cut a disorientating slash through the haze. Shizuo couldn't even look up from the image on his screen, but from the corner of his eye he watched the flea's jaw tighten.

"Kei-kun."

"Too bad you couldn't see things my way, Orihara-san." Across the street, the kid from that afternoon in Shinjuku lounged against the wall, cell-phone in one hand, smiling at them as he shook his head. "We could've avoided all this, huh?"

Head spinning, Shizuo tried to process that information. "You _knew _about this…?"

"Shizu-chan, it's not like that, I…"

"Oh, it's exactly like that." Pushing away from the wall, the kid sauntered towards them, holding out his phone. Shizuo's world was still pinpricked with the sort of flashing lights you saw right before you passed out, so he had to take the kid's word for it when he said, "You know how Takahashi got your number, Heiwajima-san?" A chuckle. "Your _phone _number, anyway… Well, yours wasn't the only number he dug up." In blurry vision, a list of numbers scrolled down the screen. "Wow, you're Yuuhei Hanejima's brother? Man, this'll fuck things up for him in a big way when it goes public, huh?"

Izaya tried to reach for his arm, but Shizuo shook it off as he staggered towards the kid, his consciousness washing red around the edges. "The fuck do you want?"

"See, Orihara-san? I had a feeling your boyfriend would get it faster than you did…" Kei grinned, peering around him to smile darkly at Izaya, still holding the phone with one hand, thumb hovering dangerously over the 'send' button as he produced a small, glinting knife from his pocket. "But _this_ is how you're supposed to negotiate."


	25. Chapter 25

Originally posted at the Drrr kinkmeme on Livejournal (parts 225-243).

_**Warnings : Potentially triggering flashbacks to rape, some violence.**_

A/N : Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter here *wishes they'd fix the formatting problems instead of screwing around with inconsequential stuff... OTL* As an apology, have a chapter without a real cliffhanger for a change? XD Thanks as always for reading, and for taking the time to comment.

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender<span>

Chapter 25

All that stirred in the silence was the ragged hush of Shizuo's breathing, low and out of sync with the lazy, crystalline plink of gathered raindrops trickling from the edge of the roof to splash in puddles on the sidewalk. At least, Izaya assumed that was where it went; he couldn't take his eyes off the thumb Kei held at the 'send' button of his phone.

How foolish, to think his newfound knowledge that Shizu-chan had shacked up with his kouhai the moment Izaya's back was turned had been the nadir of his day. Honestly, he should have known better. All Shizuo brought with him were problems, and today was no exception.

_I should thank her for taking you off my hands, ne? It's about time you become the bane of someone else's existence for a change._

But she wasn't here now. Just him, and Shizuo, and the dregs of this mess that he might have given a little more respect if he'd genuinely considered the kid any kind of threat. Either way, they'd dealt with worse, even though it was debatable whether the blond felt any better about the digit Kei had on the phone than he had the finger Takahashi'd had on the trigger of his gun. Both had the same capacity to destroy everything… even if there was much less of an 'everything' tonight than there had been then.

_Ah, one for the road, Shizu-chan…?_

Keeping his hands visible and away from the pockets of his coat, he shrugged.

"What makes you think we're in the business of negotiating anything, Kei-kun?"

"You're not?" Phony surprise washed across the kid's face. "And here I thought that was your plan all along."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Shizuo's head dip slightly in the sort of condemnation that said he hadn't expected better. Izaya was involved, and so it was flawed from the start.

It might have been easier if he could actually refute that, but it was as much Shizu-chan's fault as it was his own. True, the boy was only involved at all because Izaya had underestimated Takahashi to an embarrassingly uncharacteristic degree, but it was Shizuo's fault that he'd let down his guard enough to dismiss the threat he posed.

"I told you. I'm not interested."

"Yeah…" Kei tilted his head. "'Cept for the part where you really are, huh? D'you think I'm too dumb to see you're just running back to warn him?"

Ignoring Shizuo's quietly accusing intake of breath, Izaya chuckled. "Then you clearly haven't been following me for long, ne? Or you'd have seen that was the last thing I had in mind." He shrugged a shoulder in Shizuo's direction. "He's the one who came after me, not the other way around."

The streetlight sparkled along the edge of the blade as Kei cast a suspicious glance between them. Fine, so it wasn't _entirely _true, but it was close enough for now.

_How far have you sunk when a brat like this can predict your movements, hmm?_

"So if you think you have anything to gain, go right ahead."

"Oi, the fuck—?"

"Well, it's true, ne? Shizu-chan should make it as clear to poor Kei-kun as he did to me that our arrangement has come to an end."

"So what the hell _did _you come here for?" He felt the pressure of Shizuo's scowl searing into his side. "If it had nothing to do with this dumbass?"

That particular piece of information was none of Kei's business. He hadn't quite decided whether it was any of Shizuo's business yet, but he still had no intention of discussing it on the street.

"While I'm deeply flattered that you both seem to think I plan the minutiae of my day around you, I'll have to disappoint you. I was only here working."

Surprisingly, Shizuo just nodded slightly. Even more surprisingly, he displayed uncharacteristic discretion as he asked, "Same employer as usual?"

"Oh? Is Shizu-chan keeping tabs on me now? Ah, it's funny how things circle around in the end, ne?"

"Like hell I would."

"You think I'm gonna buy any of this bullshit?" Kei certainly hadn't taken any lessons in patience from his lord and master. Whatever else he'd been, Takahashi had been content enough to let Izaya talk himself into a corner. It just went to show that beyond the bravado, Kei was impetuous and rash and so terribly _young_, that the value of strategy had passed him by.

Not that it counted for much. The kid's finger was still brushing intimately against that send button, and the only thing that could stop him before he pressed it would've been the gun Izaya had managed to misplace. His knife and Shizuo's fists would be too slow, unless Kei-kun was already distracted.

It was such a trivial thing, looking at it objectively. The foolish, immature and petty little game of schoolchildren, humiliating each other with embarrassing photos. No one here thought Kei would actually pose a _physical _threat, even with that toy knife of his. No, his real weapon was the way sending out that photograph had the potential of pushing Shizuo past the point of anyone's rescue.

The only people left alive who knew the extent of what happened were the three of them. Shinra and Celty had pieced together fragments, true, but the only other men who'd been there that night were dead. It was contained, controllable. Under _Shizuo's _control. Izaya knew information networks well enough to know that once those pictures slipped from their grasp, they'd never regain it. Not completely. Not enough for Shizu-chan.

It had only been okay for Izaya to know because Izaya had never mattered. If those photographs reached his family, his friends… if there was no way to deny the pain, the shame, the ruin…

_What would you do then, Shizu-chan?_

"Fine." He feigned a sigh. "Please, Kei-kun, negotiate away. What do you want?"

The boy laughed curtly. "It's so easy for guys like you to say that sort of thing, huh? Just throw your yen and your power at all the dirty little secrets and they go away, 'cos they're nowhere near as important as you are. Y'know I had frie—" With a small shake of the head, Kei corrected himself. "I knew kids back at the shop, and you knew they were just gonna disappear some night, never come back. 'Cos no one really gives a shit. And no one ever does anything, 'cos people like you just get away with it. You think you can do whatever the hell you like, to who you like, and 'cos you're way up there and I'm way down there, it's all okay. I was right about you the first time, _Nakura-san_…" The smile turned mocking, and Izaya couldn't help wonder whether Kei still recalled the way he'd reacted last time he'd made the same accusation. No, it was a lucky barb, that was all; Kei just wasn't that sharp, or he'd have long since understood why Izaya hated it so much. "You're no better than any of those other fuckers."

Che… people really needed to stop making that comparison. He was a reasonable man, after all, but everyone had their limits…

And he wasn't entirely sure who he was talking to when he grit his teeth. "Those photographs you seem so fond of prove otherwise, ne, Kei-kun? I'm a lot of things, but I have no interest in raping underage boys or innocent strangers on the street."

"And you think _that's _the only difference?" Kei's eyes looked unnaturally bright in the streetlight. "You think that's the reason you can say you're better than him?"

Izaya shrugged. "Well, I think it's a decent start, ye—"

"You don't even know what it's like!" The knife wobbled in Kei's grip. "He was the only person who ever gave a fuck! The only person who ever made sure I was okay! The only place I was safe! And you took that away!"

In different circumstances, Izaya would have found Kei fascinating. Here was a human so subjugated by the abuse of another that they'd morphed their helplessness into a desperate loyalty. Just like Hanako-chan, Kei had found a way to survive by believing brutality and perversion were expressions of affection. Of care. With his options narrowed down to Takahashi's attention or no attention at all, Kei had chosen the former. No other creature, barring this supposedly most intelligent and evolved of species, had quite that much capacity for tolerating the cruelty of others and somehow finding fault with themselves for doing so.

_Is it the same for you, Shizu-chan? Was it that way before any of them laid a finger on you?_

Was it that way because of me?

"What about all the things he took away, ne, Kei-kun?" Izaya narrowed his eyes.

Fury twisted Kei's mouth with an ugly little smile. "Like your boyfriend's cherry? Yeah, I can see how that'd suck for you."

A few seconds too late, it occurred to him that he'd made a secondary mistake when it came to the kid, one far more elementary than the first.

He'd honestly thought Kei wanted _something_. A physical, tangible, _real _something that he could have written off with a few hundred thousand yen.

When the biggest mistake of all still stood mutely at his side, Izaya should have realized from the beginning that what Kei really wanted wasn't that simple. Wasn't that easy. Wasn't that _cheap._

All Kei wanted was to have them here, watching him as he tore their worlds apart. And if Izaya, with every meticulous care, hadn't been able to afford that price, he doubted the kid stood a chance.

It was always a bad idea to make things personal. Such a _human _thing to do, and he prided himself on being above that. Esoteric games played at a distance were far more fitting, and if he'd actually remembered that he could've been enjoying this spectacle for what it was: observing the misinformed, misguided, brilliantly misdirected hatred Kei lashed his way. If the boy's motives didn't mirror his own so bitterly, he could have sat back and watched the proceedings with a casual, critical, expectant eye, knowing that it didn't matter whether the boy disappointed him or not; he could toss away his plans at any point and make new ones. There was little attachment to them, after all, just for what he could learn, what he could attain in the process.

But Shizu-chan always made it personal. Shizu-chan blundered past all those boundaries and kicked away all the distance Izaya tried to create, and didn't even realize what he was doing.

Shizuo held no respect for Izaya's plans. Held no respect for the distinction he'd carved between gods and monsters, and more importantly, none for the distinction between those two things and humans.

Shizu-chan just made him everything he'd cast aside. Made him irrational, and careless, and _human_, and turned that wide berth into the narrowest of margins.

What on earth was he _meant _to do with someone like that besides hate them?

"Oh, Kei-kun…" He might have gleaned a little more satisfaction from the kid's expression if Shizuo hadn't flinched at Izaya's sudden bark of laughter too. There was a profound irony, he decided, in the fact that he hurt Shizu-chan far more effectively, far more _ruthlessly_ when he wasn't trying, than all those occasions before when he really was. "You really _are _a child, ne?"

The boy glared at him, a flicker of confusion in angry eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Why are you here, Kei-kun?" When no answer was forthcoming, Izaya went on. "Ah, so you have time to play guessing games? All right then, I'll go first, ne? You're here to make someone pay for taking away everything you knew. For wrecking the delicate balance of your life that you've eked out for yourself at some terrible price. You probably even think 'if I kill them, if I gain my revenge, I'll feel peaceful and it can all go back to the way it was before'. Am I getting close? Well…" He shrugged, tilting his head. "Then you of all people should know that something as trivial as my 'boyfriend's cherry' was the last thing on my mind, ne?"

Kei's grip on his weapons didn't falter, but his gaze slid to Shizuo. Izaya couldn't do the same without taking his eyes off the knife and the phone, so he had to take his cues from the boy's closed-off expression as to what he saw when he looked the blond's way.

Really, even Shizu-chan couldn't be so dense that he didn't realize that little speech had been as much for his benefit as Kei's.

"But it won't help, Kei-kun," he went on softly, speaking as though the boy was a living conduit, the only way he could get through to that idiotic protozoan skull now. "Even if you do your worst, kill us, ruin us, do whatever it is you think we deserve… ah, you'll feel better for a while, but you'll realize it changes nothing. You'll never get the things you want back. The things that are broken merely stay broken, ne?"

And Shizu-chan ought to have taught him by now that continuing to break things was a terrible method of trying to put them back together again.

"Didja really mean it, Orihara-san?" Kei asked, for a moment sounding young and nervous and wholly out of his depth. At least before he glanced back at Izaya with a hardened viciousness in his eyes that spoke plainly of all the things he'd killed off in an attempt to survive. "That he's not even your boyfriend and you couldn't care less what happens to him? Couldn't care less if he suffers? But I guess that's what happens to damaged goods, right?"

A reckless, desperate light shimmered in the boy's eyes as he smiled, shifting his gaze from Izaya just long enough to glance at the phone he clung to like it was his last treasure. Maybe it was. "No one ever _really _gives a shit."

Given that arguing was pointless – and no one would believe him if he tried denying it - deflecting seemed to be the only safe tactic. But the breezy little reminder he'd been about to drop about how Takahashi had clearly given _so _much of a shit when he'd set out to abuse a child more than half his age just died on his lips at the laughter that scraped unpleasantly through the silence.

But Kei wasn't laughing. If anything, the kid looked about as unsettled as Izaya felt at the grating, unnatural sound.

"Damaged goods?" Shizuo's voice had never sounded as animalistic as it did then, a low snarl wrapped in maddened amusement. "Damaged fucking goods?!"

It happened to everyone who tried to rehabilitate a wild creature, Izaya supposed. There would inevitably come a point where you forgot precisely what you were dealing with, when you began to take for granted that the monster was tamed and leashed. That just because you'd conditioned it to eat from the palm of your hard it was made safe, docile and declawed, and no longer required its binds and bars.

Shizuo moved almost too fast for him to see. There wasn't enough room to watch the beast lunge with all his furious grace. He had to settle for the jerky, clumsy way the blond pushed him out of the way, closing the distance between himself and Kei before the boy could even blink, let alone fire off the synapses that would let him press the 'send' button. To his credit though, he didn't even relinquish his grasp on either of his weapons as one large hand curved chokingly around his throat and yanked him closer until the toes of the kid's sneakers barely touched the ground.

Kei cried out, slashing blindly. One lucky swipe caught Shizuo across the bicep, drawing a thin ribbon arc of blood from a shallow cut before the knife was knocked from his grip. Holding the kid by the throat, the blond shoved him back against the closest wall and despite himself Izaya winced at the whiny rush of air knocked from Kei's lungs.

He caught himself before he stepped forward, caught himself before he said "Shizu-chan—" What would he say? "He's just a kid. He's harmless. He's just like _you_." Shizuo wouldn't listen, and Izaya had forfeited his right to reciprocity on that score anyway.

Instead, he bent down to retrieve the knife, glancing up in time to see Shizuo wrench the phone from Kei's woefully outmatched fist.

"You wanna fucking negotiate?" Magnificently unpredictable, Shizuo didn't crush the phone to so much plastic dust. Fingers shaking with rage, he jabbed through the menus until Izaya knew what those brown eyes were staring at just by how dead they looked. How empty. With a snarl, Shizuo shoved the photo into Kei's face, far too close for the kid to be able to see it clearly even if he wasn't scrabbling ineffectually at the grip around his throat. "You wanna negotiate for a bastard like this? Hah?! Then you fucking negotiate with _me_."

Kei squirmed uselessly in Shizuo's grip, and Izaya couldn't tell whether he was admirably stubborn or downright stupid as he shook his head as best he could. "It's _him_!" Kei glared in Izaya's direction. "He's the fucker who did all this! It's his fault!"

"Hah?" Shizuo snarled a laugh, showing teeth. "Is that what he told you?"

In his own defence, Izaya hadn't actually told Kei anything. It was hardly his fault the boy made things up all by himself, ne…?

Kei stopped struggling, the colour draining from his face as realization dawned.

_Ah… maybe he's not quite as damaged as we imagined, ne, Kei-kun…?_

"You've got to be fucking kidding me…" Shizuo muttered distractedly, paying no heed to the deadweight in his grasp or the thin trickle of blood tickling its way down his arm as he stared at the phone again. "The only person who made sure you were okay…? You actually fricking _miss _this bastard, don't you?"

No. Kei just missed the life he'd known, that was all. Izaya doubted the kid ever really _knew_ Takahashi enough to actually miss him. All Kei knew was what he'd deemed acceptable for the boy _to _know. All the things that would keep him in line, keep him afraid and desperate. Kei was just frightened of what the future held, now that he had to define himself by a brand new set of rules.

But honestly, he didn't think there was much use in trying to explain that to either of them. Neither of them wanted to hear it; Kei wanted so desperately to be right, and Shizu-chan wanted so desperately for Izaya to be _wrong_.

Kei looked away. "Fuck you."

Shizuo stared hollowly at the photo for a long moment, before turning to Izaya, voice flat. "You've been there, right? Tell me where it is."

It took him a second to realize where, precisely, Shizuo meant. "No."

"Flea—"

"What good will it do? Hmm? You said you wanted to forget, Shizu-chan."

"Fuck it, I'm _never _going to forget! And after all the shit you've pulled, the least you owe me is this."

Izaya grit his teeth. He had no intention of begging, not when it was clear Shizuo had already made up his mind about what he wanted, and about _him_. Of course, nothing had changed in the couple of dozen minutes since he disturbed Shizu-chan's little lovenest.

And the least he owed was absolutely nothing.

Still gripping Kei by the front of his shirt like he was carrying little more than a squirming bag of groceries, Shizuo stalked closer. Kei whimpered with every step, and the whole image would have been intensely funny if everything about the blond didn't feel so fragile and brittle, about to fall to pieces any second.

"Tell me," Shizuo said again, every syllable clear and quiet, alien to the point Izaya had to shake his head to convince himself he was still looking at the same man, "where it is."

He could have lied, sent Shizu-chan on a wild goose chase through Ikebukuro as he sought that storage unit near the railway line. The blond would tire eventually, ne, especially if he was still carrying his little passenger all through the city. Worse came to worse, Kei would throw an award-worthy temper tantrum and the police would be alerted.

And he couldn't deny he was curious. It was a difficult habit to quash, even in these circumstances, the desire to see what Shizuo might do. Would he be as affected as Izaya had been, or would he be impassive, almost disappointed that this cursed space he'd given so much power was nothing more than a dinghy lock-up that could have been on any street, in any city? Did monsters allow the influence of association to frighten them, _control them _as much as humans? Given all the things Shizu-chan has avoided – deliberately or instinctively – over the past few weeks, he suspected they must.

But Shizu-chan was nothing if not unpredictable, ne…?

Those brown eyes were almost as hollow and haunted as they'd been that night. Backlit by the streetlamps, it was so easy to believe they were right back at the start, with Izaya running into Shizuo by serendipitous happenstance, except it wasn't the Shizuo he knew.

_I don't think so, Shizu-chan. I didn't get shot just for this to rewind back to the beginning. I didn't lose sight of myself just so you can throw it all away. _

"Fine." He nodded, turning in the direction of that seedy little side street, an image that had been seared into his brain since the day he stood in the dank dark, holding the shattered fragments of Shizuo's phone. "But don't blame me for what you find there, ne?"

* * *

><p><em>Don't blame me for what you find there.<em>

Tch…

That implied he was looking for anything in the first place, didn't it? Following the flea through a narrow maze of streets, shoving the dumbass brat along every time Kei started to drag his heels, Shizuo couldn't even lay claim to knowing what the hell he was doing, let alone what he hoped to achieve.

He just wanted to see it for himself. Wanted this stupid kid to see it too.

His memories of that night were as lurid and fragmented as the photos the kid had in his phone. He remembered pain, and voices, and the cold, but he could've walked past this place and never made the connection. As grim and innocuous as any other side street in the damn city, there was nothing about the storage unit that set off any fucked-up flashbacks. Nothing that made him feel a damn thing as he stood outside.

Part of him still wanted to pretend he hadn't felt a damn thing _since_ that night, not really. He'd been walking around in a trance, going through the motions, and anything that remained of _him _had been left behind in this place.

And maybe that was true: he _had _lost the last vestiges of the him he thought he knew. But it hadn't happened here. It hadn't happened then.

Loitering a few feet behind him, Izaya's voice strained with the effort to stay casual. "There's nothing in there, you know. I don't even see the point of—"

"Shut up."

A swift kick broke off the padlock and chain keeping the door closed. The shutter rolled up with a metallic clatter, a loud slap-slap-slap that made his nerves flinch with every repeat, and—

—_he has to squeeze his eyes shut a few times, convinced he's been blinded or at the very least blindfolded, because it's so fucking dark. Dark, and black, and cold, and he can't quite join his thoughts up – feels like he's trying to jam together jigsaw pieces that don't fit right – but he thinks drowning probably feels like this. Like being swallowed up, sinking, so much pressure wrapping around every limb that you can barely move._

_Bright white sparks dance across his vision as he feels himself falling, feels himself hitting the ground, and for a second he struggles instinctively, not understanding why he can't just use his hands to lift himself up._

_Laughter echoes from somewhere - everywhere _- in the dark at his attempts to do it anyway. It comes even harder when he finally works out his wrists are bound and can't figure out worth a shit why he can't just break free. Cold concrete scrapes the side of his face as he goes down again, but it doesn't help him feel any more attached to his body.__

_"See, that's the difference between us, Heiwajima-san." One of the voices separates from the others, drifting and echoing through the haze in his head. "Know thy enemy. Good advice. You might want to try it some time."_

_Know thy enemy._

_His heartbeat thunders in his head as he fights his bonds again, scanning the dark futilely for red eyes and a malicious smirk._

_I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you…!_

_"But some other time, hmm?" The voice approaches. A hand grips his hair, tugs his head back with remarkably little effort, and it occurs to him with a detached sort of clarity that it's not that this guy's strong, it's that he's weak. "We've got some other new things for you to try first."_

_And he catches sight of a completely unfamiliar smile as—_

—murky light replaced the suffocating dark. Shizuo couldn't even remember stepping into the grimy, empty space beyond that rattling door, let alone when Izaya had switched on the solitary underpowered light-bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

"Ah, someone reconnected the power." The flea's surprise morphed into a wary sort of tension. "If someone's keeping an eye on this place, we probably shouldn't be here, Shizu-chan."

When he could barely breathe, Shizuo couldn't really summon the will to give a shit about that. The air felt soupy and thick, like that feeling of drowning and suffocating hadn't quite lifted along with the memory.

And maybe he hadn't been looking for anything, but this was a place of ghosts and shadows all the same. It was another him watching the proceedings, another him recoiling into the gloom as he shoved the kid in a sprawling heap on the concrete floor. The smile the curved his lips as Kei tried to scrabble to his feet didn't fit right on his face; the expression tugged wrongly at his muscles, forcing them into a shape they didn't want to take.

But it was too fucking funny that this kid was flailing around, afraid of _him_.

Kei went down with a thump when Shizuo gripped the back of his neck, shoving his face into the concrete.

"I don't remember much about how he got me here." It couldn't have been his voice either, too flat and steady when the guy in the back of his head who _hated _being here just shied away every time a shadow shifted. "One second I'm beating the shit out of some punks on the street, same as usual, the next… I'm here."

Kei whined, a sound that barely seemed human, his fingers scrabbling at the rough floor—

—_but he can't get a grip on anything. His fingers don't work, his voice doesn't work, his fricking brain doesn't work, not that it's ever been much help in the past. All he has are his fists, and he can't even curl his fingers into his palm let alone swing a punch._

_They know that. That's why they don't seem concerned as someone binds his wrists loosely in front of him. What threat can he pose when he can barely even shove himself up off the floor?_

_But it's so cold, and he feels so feverish, he keeps trying just out of discomfort. The room spins as he pushes himself up onto his knees, muscles trembling with the exertion of the simple act._

_"Shit, how much didja give him?" someone laughs from the dark. "He's like some fucking retard! Eugh, if he's gonna crap his pants or something I'm outta here."_

_"Are you, Heiwajima-san?" Another voice slithers from the haze where shadows detach and reattach at will, making up shapes he can't ever focus on properly. He can just hear them. He can just feel the cold. Starburst explodes behind his eyes as his head's yanked back again, and eyes he's never seen before gradually clear in his vision. "It'd be a shame to ruin this cute little uniform of yours if that happened, now wouldn't it? Here, let me help."_

_Snickers roll in a dizzying wave around the periphery of the room, drifting from one voice to the next, and he doesn't register for a second why it's so funny. Funnier still that he can barely make out their faces, but the clear clink of his belt buckle unfastening shoots straight to his skull._

_"No—!"_

_He thinks he yells out. Maybe. He does something, because one of the other voices snarls "Shut the hell up!" and a sharp kick connects with the side of his head, hard enough to knock him off balance again. By the time he can think past the pain, clammy fingers are hooking into his clothes, tearing them away._

_No. No. No…_

_He tries to curl in on himself, tries to pull away from their stares, but his body's uncoordinated and clumsy, and the mortification's short-circuited any remaining sense._

_This isn't happening. They're not doing this. He's not letting them do this._

_His struggling's stilled by other hands emanating out of the dark. A low whistle, the kind he's heard coming from some of the seedier clubs late at night as he's walking home, circles the silence. "Heh, nice ass, pretty-boy." One of the men holding him down reaches out, striking the palm of his hand against bare skin. And he flinches, but it's robotic, physical, nothing at all to do with his head. "Betcha let everyone have a piece of this, huh?"_

_"Make him shake it!" the guy who keeps sniggering in a dark, ravenous sort of way says. "Make the slut beg for it!"_

_"Shut up," the closest voice says, and he can still hear a belt buckle jangling. It takes a_ _second to realize it's not his. "Not gonna be any fun if he wants it. Isn't that right, Heiwajima-san?" The voice purrs against his ear. He can't move. He can't fight. He can't do anything as cold fingers worm their way between his legs. "Little boys who think they're something special need to be put it their place before they can enjoy themselves."_

_And he doesn't care about the pain. He really doesn't. He's felt pain before. Not this one, specifically, but pain's pain. It tears up his spine, as though the guy behind him hasn't just rammed his dick inside, but reached in and is tearing each vertebra off one by one._

_He thinks there are cries and catcalls and jeers about how he's bleeding, but all he can hear is a ringing in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, baffled at the way clear drops of water splash onto his bound hands._

_What the fuck's wrong with him? All he needs to do is tear his hands loose, and tear these bastards limb from limb. He's Shizuo Heiwajima. That's what he does. That's all he does. That's all he's good for._

_"Oh…?" Disgustingly breathless and low, that voice rasps against his ear again. "Did you really think you were better than this, Heiwajima-san? You're not." He shudders as a tongue licks his cheek, skin slapping skin as the man behind him picks up his pace. "You're nothing. Just another worthless whore who's going to come all over my prick. You don't really want to fight, do you? You just want to bend over and spread your legs."_

_You don't really want to fight._

_You don't want to fight._

_Don't fight…_

_Don't—_

—"…Shizu-chan. He's horribly annoying, but he's not the one who—"

"Shut up."

Izaya sighed. "Just ease off, ne? I'm running out of places to hide the bodies."

Kei stiffened under Shizuo's grip at that, trying to turn his face to the side. Face flushed with fury, and fear, and fighting to breathe past the collar of Shizuo's fingers the kid still had the nerve to glare at him through snot and tears. "So you got fucked up, so what?!" Kei spat. "He did that to me all the time, I'm not crying about it! I'm not—"

"Shut the hell up!"

But it was true. It was all true.

It was one night to him. A handful of hours, most of which he didn't even remember that clearly.

It had been the kid's _life_. Days, weeks, months, _years_ of it, and unlike Shizuo, Kei'd probably been vividly aware through most of it. Knew what was happening. Knew it wasn't going to stop. Knew _why_.

But all he could see was someone else who could have stopped it. All he could see was someone else who could have done something, before everything went to hell. Someone else who should have stepped up and dealt with his own shit before it all spilled over onto other people. Someone who shouldn't have been weak, shouldn't have been helpless, shouldn't have just stood back to protect himself.

All he saw was himself, hunched and trembling on that filthy floor.

The goddamn kid wasn't the one who should've been on the receiving end, but he'd fucked that up already. He'd missed those chances. He'd palmed off that responsibility onto the flea, and turned Izaya from just plain twisted into something as useless and broken as he was.

And if this dumbass kid was still going to cling to the memory of pain, the memory of someone who hurt him, then…

"Still fucking missing him now, hah?!" He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, but that was probably the only reason the kid's neck hadn't snapped under the punishing grip. Fumbling with the phone, his vision blurred a little as the photograph came up on the screen, as though even his brain had decided it had had enough of seeing it. His knuckles scraped the concrete as he shoved it in front of the kid's face. "That was right where you are now. Right fucking here. Still think he gave a shit about you? Still think he gave a shit about anyone but himself? Hah?!"

Maybe the boy mumbled something, but it was muffled and frightened against the stained floor.

But it was okay. He was a monster. He'd been made to hurt, and destroy, and ruin, and there was a perfect fucking symmetry in the fact he was the one pinning a scared, shivering, pleading figure onto this same dirty concrete. It was stupid simple, when he stopped to think about it; the only way he knew to stop hurting was to make someone else hurt even more.

All along, he'd been so foolishly desperate to know _why_, and worse than thinking it was because of him was knowing it wasn't for any reason at all.

And with this, they'd won.

This wasn't anything someone else had done to him. This wasn't Takahashi, or Izaya, or pain, or lies. It wasn't because he'd been raped, or fooled, or frightened, or lost. This was _him_. His choices, his inactions. The only one to blame for the way it had ended up tonight was him, because there were no other options, nowhere else to go when you were this flawed from the very beginning.

He'd been right all along; Izaya's perverse little thrill had been sitting back to watch the inexorable slide to self-destruction, and the closer he could get those ringside seats the better.

Kei's whimper was high-pitched and grating as Shizuo brought his fist down onto the concrete, inches from the kid's face. "You think your boyfriend didn't fuck me up enough, hah?! You think you wanna have a shot yourself?"

Another punch.

"You wanna send those fucking pictures to my brother, to my friends?"

In his head, Kasuka's gentle, passive indifference morphed to shame and disgust, his gaze never meeting Shizuo's again if their paths happened to cross. '_You deserved it, nii-san. After all, all you do is wreck other people's lives.'_

_No, please…_

"You want them to know how badly I fucked up? Is that gonna make you feel better, hah?!"

Another punch. And another, until chips of the concrete started ricocheting up into the kid's face. Shizuo's knuckles were barely grazed; he could keep—

—"…_going all night, Heiwajima-san."_

_It already feels like they have. Every time he thinks he's going to pass out, there's a punch or a kick to the ribs to drag him away from that blissful void. His shirt sticks to him, and every time he squeezes his eyes shut or grits his teeth, he can feel everything that's dried against his skin pulling tight and ticklish. The smell of it's in his head, bitter and strong. He'll never get rid of it._

_For a long time, he tried concentrating on the pain, but with a freak like him that was never going to last long. The pain isn't in his body anymore, anyway. It's somewhere_ deeper, somewhere he's stupidly devastated that assholes like this can even touch.

_With a grunt, whoever's in his mouth pulls out, spattering hot and sticky fluid across his face again. He tries to close his eyes in time, but his vision stings and blurs anyway._

_"Fuck, he's good…" The hand in his hair is almost praising, a pat well done for a well-behaved pet. He shrinks from it. "No damn way he's never done that before."_

_"Heh…" He can't see clearly, but there's a weird gleam of light from somewhere off to his left. He tries to focus on that, because it's better than paying attention to the hand crawling between his thighs, or the fingers digging into his hips, or the sour taste in his mouth. "Wonder which one'a these he's usually spreading 'em for, huh?"_

_"S'that his phone?" A braying laugh. "You should call someone! Make 'em listen to their bitch getting fucked properly."_

_"Don't be stupid." That smooth, oily voice again. The one who… the first one. "We don't want to be disturbed yet." Fingers curve against his cheek, spreading the cooling, drying come. "Not when you're still having so much fun, right? Or do you want your buddies to see you like this?"_

_The thought of it makes him flinch, and whoever's inside him groans through their laugh. "I think he might. He sure as hell tightened up just then."_

_"He don't have that many friends. There's only like… a dozen names in here."_

_"Oh? And you being such a charming, lovely guy Heiwajima-san, how can you be so_ _unpopular?"_

_"They probably haven't realized what a good fuck he is, huh?"_

_"Y'think?"_

_"Awww, are you lonely prettyboy?" A hand grips his chin, a grubby sour-tasting thumb working its way into his mouth, prising it open. "No one like you 'cause you're a dirty freaky slut? We'll be your friends, won't we guys? We'll be really good friends. But you gotta do nice things for your friends, don'tcha? Gotta make your friends feel good or they'll just ditch your ass."_

_"Gonna fuck it raw before I ditch it," the guy doing just that snorts, still groping between his legs in a gruesome parody of trying to get him hard._

_"Heh, that's right." Something hot and blunt jabs at his lips, more of that disgusting taste spreading onto his tongue. "So open wide, prettyboy. Clean me up good before I have another round with that cute ass of yours."_

_He blames the choking sensation on the tears that streak down his face. Maybe it's true; he can't be upset, can he, when everything they're saying is right._

_There aren't many people in his phonebook._

_There aren't any people who don't think he's a freak. Messed up. Flawed. Pathetic. Useless._

_He tries again to form a fist from numbed fingers, as the guy with his phone cackles._ _"Hey, wonder who 'Flea' is? C'mon, lemme call."_

_"No. If you want to do something, take some pictures. We should capture this special moment, huh Heiwajima-san? Give you something nice to remember us by on all those lonely nights, right?"_

_A hand smacks his cheek to make him pay attention. "Hey, smile for the camera, prettyboy."_

_"Hold on…" The guy behind him groans rhythmically. "Wanna see his face when I come in him again?" And the pace picks up again, a hand clamping down on his shoulder, and—_

—he lashed out, because it was all he knew to do. Izaya dodged out of the way before his fist could make contact, but not before that look in his eyes connected with the shards of all the pieces of himself Shizuo had lost on this floor that night.

So it wasn't just them who could reach in and make him hurt…

"Shizu-chan, you need to stop."

"Shut the fuck up. You're even fucking worse than he is! You both think this is some goddamn game, but at least he's just some dumb fricking kid who doesn't know any better. The fuck's your excuse, hah?" And it wasn't even his voice, it wasn't even his words anymore, vicious and hurt and lashing out just to make someone else feel as bad as he did. Just to keep Izaya from getting to that place, from uncovering that part of him that broke so fucking easily _because _it was weak, and pathetic, and lonely, and scared. "It should be you!"

Izaya nodded, his voice quiet and hypnotic. "So make it me, ne? Let him go and make it me. If you want to make someone pay, Shizu-chan, at least make it someone who deserves it."

"No…" Shaking his head, his throat stung as he tried to speak. "Don't fucking _do _that. Stop acting like you give a shit."

_Stop acting like the guy who touched like I might break. Stop pretending you're the guy who looked like he might cry for me, the guy who said 'I love you' and start being Izaya Ori-fucking-hara again. Please…_

"Ah, if you figure out how I'm meant to do that, Shizu-chan," the corners of Izaya's mouth quirked in a not-quite smile, "I'd love to know."

Somewhere along the line, Kei had passed out. Be it the choking hold or the terror, he couldn't tell. Someone else was still controlling his strings as he jerkily got to his feet, turning slowly on the flea.

He thought he'd chased after Izaya to say 'thank you', but he wasn't the one in charge anymore. As if it had been dammed up for the past weeks, the anger sang through his veins in a shaky, jittery rush, fuelled by the fear, fuelled by the humiliation. Fuelled by the monster who'd pleaded and cried on this floor, knowing it was all his own fault that he was there in the first place.

Why the hell had the flea expected him to be able to exact his revenge, when the one he despised most hadn't been any of the men who'd raped him? The rape _was _his revenge, wasn't it? Exactly what he'd reaped for himself all along.

He couldn't remember moving. A sliver of a gap in the red mist allowed him to hear Izaya's gasp as he was shoved back against a dank wall, Shizuo's forearm barred across his throat.

And the fucked up bastard was _still _smiling.

He could feel Izaya's convulsive swallow against the straining muscles of his arm. "If it makes you feel better, then it's worth it. Do whatever you need to, Shizu-chan. Do whatever it takes to be you again."

No. He didn't _want _to be him. Couldn't the goddamn shitty louse see that?

"That's what you want." His chest heaved, what must have been sweat trickling its way down the side of his face. He swiped at it with his free hand, but it kept on coming. "That's what you've wanted all along."

Izaya nodded. "Because that Shizu-chan might have been afraid, like you said, ne? But it never stopped him. That Shizu-chan was stupid and reckless and unpredictable and _alive_."

"Shut up…" He shook his head, teeth clamped shut. "Shut up…"

"I told you before, didn't I? I know what you are, Shizuo. I've always known. And I don't care." Head falling back against the wall, Izaya laughed softly. "Ne, Shizu-chan… you know, the only one who's appalled by the fact you're a monster is _you_. Doesn't beating yourself up over it get awfully boring after a while?"

"I said shut the fuck up!"

Unable to take staring at those knowing eyes, bright and clear and piercing clean down to his soul brazenly as if it had every right to, he shoved away. Izaya didn't know anything. Izaya didn't know him. Izaya didn't…

The damn flea had been right about one thing: there really wasn't anything here. Which was unfortunate, when his hands pounded with the urge to break something.

Well… if he couldn't break something, he might as well break everything.

"Shizuo!"

A cascade of dust snowed from the ceiling at the force of the punch, a cracked crater appearing around his knuckles as the flimsily built wall creaked.

"Get the fuck away from me. Go!"

The shutter tore free from its moorings with a metallic scream, every link in the chain severing with a snap. Something in his head kept snapping in sequence like that too. In the dim light, sparks grated as he swung it into the wall like a baseball bat, hard enough to make the light bulb above them sway. Shadows danced, and the fear of what hid in them just made him hit harder.

Pathetic.

He should have been able to beat the shit out of them here, that night. It hadn't been Izaya's place. It hadn't been Izaya's fight.

Weak.

But he hadn't. Just done what they told him to, just let them fuck him. Just let them put him in his place.

Useless.

Because what was the point of being a monster when he couldn't even do that? What was the point of enduring it, what had been the point of giving in to it? What had been the point of all the normal things he'd given up, when push came to shove it didn't help him at all?

_Afraid. _

Afraid of them. Afraid of himself. Afraid he'd enjoyed it. Afraid they'd been right. Afraid it had all been predetermined. Afraid it had all been pointless. Afraid of going back, and afraid he never could. Afraid of the flea. Afraid of gentle touches and knowing eyes and afraid of believing it was all okay because it _wasn't_. It never had been. _He _never had been, and Izaya couldn't pretend all that had gone away.

Afraid the flea would never forgive him for being so weak. Afraid his fear had broken the flea as surely as they'd broken him.

"_You're not broken, Shizu-chan. Not anymore."_

The unbidden thought, neither memory nor entirely _his_- but most definitely the flea's voice, even though Izaya hadn't said a word - threw him off his stride just long enough to catch his breath. Ugly welts decorated the wall, some gaps peeking clear through into the narrow alleyway between the storage unit and the building next door, and cool night air tinged with garbage and gasoline drifted through the tears.

"Are you going to give them what they wanted, Shizu-chan?" It really was the flea's voice then, subdued and quiet. "Is everything we did going to be for nothing?"

Gripping the folded up shutter so tightly had cut his palms. Red streaked against the metal, making it hard to hold on. "You were right. Things that are broken just stay broken."

"I wonder… but maybe it's just because neither of us are much good at the alternative, ne?"

"Tch…" His fingers dug into the bent shutter again, a primitive satisfaction singing in his blood at the way it protested under his grip. At the way it gave. At the way he should have made _them _give, until it was their blood splattered around this room, not his. He remembered the way that gratified, pleased part of him stretched itself out in the back of his mind when his fist smashed into that Takahashi bastard's face. It hadn't been there when he pulled the trigger, and it hadn't been there when he watched that other guy meeting the wrong end of a truck, but…

Maybe it wanted to be. Maybe if he'd just let it, then…

"Maybe that's 'cause we were never meant to be."

"Shizuo—"

He swung the shutter again, just as the dumbass flea took a step forward, right into its path.

And if he was paying attention, he'd have noticed that it was instinct that made him try his damndest to temper the force, tried to stop, tried to lessen the blow. It still clipped the flea hard enough to make him stumble to the side, but the fact that it didn't smash him into the closest wall – what was left of it, anyway – just went to show…

_That what? That maybe a part of that shattered, ruined, hopeless man actually did want to be someone who knew how to put stuff back together, after all? Don't be fricking stupid… _

Izaya sucked in a breath, mouth contorting into a grimace as his hand went instinctively – protectively – to his side, and he was back on that rooftop again, watching the flea's blood spilling over his hands and helpless to do a damn thing to stop it.

It had been his fault then, too.

And he'd never said 'thank you'. He'd never said 'I'm sorry.'

The shutter slid from his fingers with a clatter. "I-Izaya…"

The flea waved him off even as he dropped to his knees, head bowed as he braced his free hand against the ground. "It's fine. It just does this now and then, ne? Just… hurts."

_You're breaking him, too._

Whoever had been hauling him around by the strings must have cut them abruptly. Feeling too weighed down to stay standing, he found himself mirroring Izaya, slumping to his knees on that stained floor.

But not for them. Not this time.

He didn't dare reach out, didn't deserve to. Instead his hands clenched into fists on his thighs, his gaze on a crack in the concrete between them. "No. It's not fine. I didn't…"

"I know." Gingerly, Izaya withdrew his hand from his side, his shoulders relaxing when he saw his palm was dry. He held it out for Shizuo's scrutiny. "You see? Didn't even pop a stitch. Ah, Shinra'd be hurt if he knew you thought his work was that shabby, and… Shizu-chan?"

He hadn't meant to. Really. But Izaya's hand was just there, and weeks of muscle memory overrode everything else; he was _meant _to touch. He was meant to overlap the flea's palm with his own, fingers entwining, and his body was too conditioned by the familiarity of it to stop himself.

"I'm sorry…" His throat constricted around air that felt like lead, the words thick and tangled on his tongue. He couldn't let go. He shouldn't have been holding on in the first place, but damn it he still couldn't let go. "I… fuck, flea, I didn't…"

It was just as well Izaya didn't try talking again. Anything Shizuo meant to say got stuck in that choking sensation in his chest, and it only took the smallest of tugs to pull him forward. He felt the rain-matted fur trim of the flea's coat against his cheek as his vision blurred, clinging tight to those thin fingers linked with his as the furious despair that should've exploded the _last _time he was here crashed over him.

And on the same cold, dirty floor where everything fell apart, Izaya's fingers threaded silently in his hair was the only thing left keeping him together.

"I'm sorry…" His fingers curled into Izaya's coat, still a little damp from the rain. Rain the flea'd only gotten caught in because he'd decided to come by Shizuo's apartment for no apparent reason. The thought just made him hold on tighter. "I'm sorry…"

Soft, cool fingers carded into his hair. "I'm not the one you owe an apology, Shizu-chan."

"No." He began to shake his head, but those fingers just gripped a little more forcefully.

"Yes. And until you understand that, they're always going to win. While you keep yourself wide open to attack that way, you'll _always _be vulnerable to it."

Once, he'd have thought that was a damn weird definition of vulnerable. As long as he had his anger, as long as he had his fists, then he'd be okay. Now… well, it was like the flea told him once, right? There were more than one way to hurt.

He'd been so fricking _stupid_…

"Fuck it, you got _shot _because of me."

"I got shot because some bastard tried to kill us." Izaya corrected. "You're the reason he didn't. If it wasn't for Shizu-chan, he'd have gotten in a better shot, ne? A more accurate one…"

No… the flea got hurt wasting his time trying to save Shizuo's ass. Izaya couldn't possibly believe that the only reason he hadn't been wounded even more critically was because of Shizuo's shitty intervention.

"Besides, we were only on that roof because of me." The fingers set up a slow, thoughtful rhythm, a quiet, contemplative stroke that should've felt patronizing and stupid, but didn't feel either one. "You're right, Shizu-chan… I really am no better than them. I thought I was doing the right thing. It _was _the right thing, but… maybe not for you, ne? I'm not sorry for anything I did. They deserved it. I'd do it all over again. I just…" A warm breath shifted through his hair as the flea lowered his head on a wry chuckle. "I'd be more careful about letting you find out. I wish it had played out a little differently, but… Ah, you're right to hate me, ne? I mean, even though it hurt you I can't bring myself to regret it."

'_If you're asking me to place a value on him in comparison to you, then… you won't like my answer, Shizu-chan.'_

He was almost glad Izaya wasn't sorry. If the flea did regret the things he'd done, then that just sapped them of any meaning, any point. If Izaya still thought it was the right thing to do, then… at least it wasn't all for nothing.

And maybe it wasn't, but it still hadn't been Izaya's fight, no matter what the flea thought.

"You should hate me. You're _supposed _to hate me."

"What's the point?" He felt Izaya shrug. "You do such a thorough job all by yourself, you don't leave the slightest leftover for anyone else. Even I can't compete with that, ne?"

There was an amused tinge to the flea's voice, but not his usual mocking condescension. Instead it was something softer, something bittersweet. Something Izaya probably didn't even realize he was capable of.

They'd both spent so damn long convinced they knew who they were, what they were about. They'd both railed against other people slapping labels on them, but they'd been content enough to do it to themselves.

_And maybe we were both wrong, huh…? Tch, would that really be so bad, flea?_

"Forgive him, ne? He's done a lot of things, but ah… haven't we all? But he's not to blame for this. You were never to blame for this, Shizuo, or for me. I'm a big boy, ne? I make my own choices, and you've never managed to stop me before… why would this be any different?"

_Because you said…_

A little belatedly, he noticed he'd been using the flea's lap like a pillow, and was still hanging onto Izaya's hand like a lifeline. And he didn't have the right to do that anymore. He'd turned this down, remember? Then walked out on an injured Izaya for the best part of three weeks just to add some insult to injury.

Letting go awkwardly, he rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He could feel Izaya's scrutiny for a moment before the flea got to his feet, brushing the dust off the tails of his coat.

"What are we going to do with him?"

"Huh…?"

Crap, he'd forgotten all about Kei, still sprawled in a heap on the floor and now covered with a frosting of dust and splintered plaster. A shiver of anxiety slid down his spine; the kid hadn't been come 'round through all that destruction. What if he'd—

"He's fine." Izaya knelt at the kid's side, looking thoroughly uninterested as he checked for a pulse. "But is it really okay to just leave him here?"

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Shizuo glanced around at the mess. For all he knew, the place could cave in on itself at any moment. He'd sure as hell done enough damage to warrant it. He almost thought he could hear the framework creaking…

He had a feeling Izaya hadn't asked because he was concerned about Kei's welfare, but he chose to answer it that way anyway.

"We could just… ditch him outside," he said. "Where the hell did he come from, anyway?"

"I have no idea." Izaya tilted his head. "I always assumed Ueno, but frankly he could have come from anywhere."

"And he doesn't have anywhere to go back to now, huh?"

"Don't even think about it, Shizu-chan. He's past the point of needing your pity. If he's survived this long, he'll be fine."

That was probably true. Fucked up attempts at blackmail aside, the kid seemed to be coping better than he was. In a perfect world he wouldn't have to – neither of them would – but Shizuo wasn't dumb enough to think that counted for anything. The only reason Kei wasn't falling apart was because he'd had so much longer to get used to it, when no kid his age should've even known what it was like.

No one should know what it was like, but a fourteen year old hadn't even clocked up enough years to account for the sort of karma that tempted shit like this.

"But just because this is how he's ended up today, it doesn't mean he's powerless to change it, ne?" Izaya watched him, and Shizuo suspected the words weren't meant for Kei at all. Actually, he doubted most of the things the flea'd said tonight hadn't been for the kid. "He can choose where he goes from here. He can choose whether to let it break him or not."

Kei whimpered when Shizuo hooked his hands under the kid's arms and hauled him up, and even barely-conscious there was a belligerence to the frown wrinkling his brows.

"Yeah… I guess he can."

Outside, there weren't many options when it came to stashing away a passed-out teenager. He had to drag Kei around the corner before he found a narrow alley that seemed concealed enough not to draw attention should anyone walk by.

At least the kid was still breathing, though whether he was gonna see that as a plus when he came 'round, Shizuo didn't know. Tch, he'd damn well better… stupid little punk probably didn't even realize he'd been given a second chance.

Propping him up against a dark, sheltered wall, he caught himself wondering whether it was safe to just leave the kid here. Anyone could come by. Anyone could do anything to him. That the men who'd brought _him _here couldn't hurt anyone else ever again didn't make him feel much better.

"Oi, Izaya…"

"Hmm?"

Holding out a hand, Shizuo didn't turn around. "Gimme his knife."

Izaya sighed softly, but a few seconds later he felt the cool hilt of the blade pressing into his palm. "This is what got you in trouble in the first place, you know. Being so naïve. Being so sure they won't stab you in the back the moment you look away."

"Maybe." Kneeling, he tucked the folded up knife into the kid's pocket. "But it's still not fair if he can't fight back, right?"

"Honestly…" Izaya tsked quietly under his breath. "How do you even survive, being this stupid? Next you'll want me to keep tabs on him, just in case he dies of hypothermia overnight."

"You'd do that anyway."

"True." And damn it all, something about the flea's tone made him think Izaya was being awfully serious. Like it mattered that Shizuo paid attention. "But not for the same reasons as you, ne?"

_Know thy enemy, huh?_

"Fair enough." He stood, sparing the kid one last glance before he began to walk back in the direction of home. "It does the same thing in the end, right?"

Izaya fell into step alongside him, silent for several streets, during which time Shizuo fished Kei's phone from his pocket and systematically crushed it into so much crumbled plastic and torn-off wiring.

Watching him scatter the fragments along the side of the street, Izaya finally spoke. "Does this mean we're even now?"

"No. This means I know what I owe you."

Izaya shook his head. "You don't owe me anything, Shizu-chan."

Yeah, he did. He knew that, even if he couldn't articulate what it was. If it wasn't for the flea, annoying and persistent and uncomfortably fucking clever, he'd be lost now to that part of him that had wanted nothing more than to lie down on that grubby, cold floor, draw down those shutters and give it all up. Stop fighting. Stop trying. Stop being _him_, because being him meant making these mistakes, meant risking hurting the people he loved.

Izaya was still favouring his side a little as they walked. He didn't seem to be in much discomfort, but hell if the flea wasn't good at covering up that shit when it suited him.

"You should go to Shinra."

"I'm fine." Izaya shrugged. "You're the one who's still bleeding."

Shizuo glanced down at the cut on his arm. "It'll be fine. Didn't even go that deep."

Izaya smiled wryly. "Ah, I don't suppose it ever does with you, ne?"

"Tch…"

True, though. And sometimes it took more than blades, or needles, or… well, sometimes it took more than that to get through to him.

Their pace slowed as they reached the busier streets, and the point where Shizuo's apartment and Ikebukuro station would be in different directions.

"Shizuo…"

"Huh?"

"Come back with me."

He couldn't help the way his gaze shifted back in the direction of his building, anymore than the flea could probably help that small barked laugh.

"Ah, in all the excitement I forgot Shizu-chan already has company tonight, ne? Oh well." Turning on his heel, Izaya shrugged casually. "It's not nice to keep ladies waiting. Maybe next time, hmm?"

Tch. Yeah, and in all the 'excitement' he'd forgotten the flea'd managed to get some screwy ideas in his head. But then what was new about that? Watching Izaya walk away, tugging up his hood again even though it wasn't raining, he fumbled in his pocket for his phone.

He'd smash it up too after tonight. The kid probably still had copies of those photos, but he wasn't gonna do anything with them. Shizuo couldn't even contemplate looking at the fucking things long enough to delete them. A new phone was a small price to pay. Still watching the back of the flea's head, he waited for the call to connect.

"Yes?"

"Hey, Vorona?"

A few feet away, Izaya's jaunty stride faltered.

"Senpai. Was Izaya Orihara tracked successfully?"

"Yeah. Look, do me a favour and lock up for me when you leave? I'll pick up the keys at work tomorrow."

"Affirmative." A pause. "Has Senpai found an opportunity to affirm an expression of gratitude?"

He really needed to quit planning shit. He'd gone after the flea to say 'thank you', and he'd dragged Vorona to his place to try to keep her from worrying about him by not worrying too much about her. He still hadn't said 'thank you', and he was pretty sure disappearing like that hadn't done a whole lot to set his kouhai's mind at ease.

Still… she was okay. Tom would be okay, and Celty, and Shinra, and Kasuka, and everyone else who'd been in the line of fire.

And as for him and Izaya…

"Not really. But I've made a start, so that's something, right?"

"Beginnings essential for all courses of action. If Senpai has done this, then objective will be achieved, no problem."

"Yeah," he smiled wryly as he shut off the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. "I hope so."

Izaya didn't turn around as he approached, barely even glancing at him as he drew up alongside.

"You're gonna have to pay for the train, flea. I didn't bring my wallet."

From the confines of the hood, Izaya huffed a soft laugh. "Shizu-chan's such an imposition. He eats all my food, he makes my apartment smell like an ashtray, he demands I pay for the train… you're really a terrible houseguest."

"Yeah, I guess I was. So you didn't miss me, huh?"

Izaya'd probably only deny it, and Shizuo wasn't confident enough to argue, but he could've sworn he saw the edge of a smile peeking out from that hood.

"Of course not. Who would?"

* * *

><p>One day, the commuters of Tokyo would get it through their dumbass heads that Shizuo and Izaya regularly got on trains looking like they'd just gone ten rounds with monster trucks. It wasn't as though they were taking up the whole damn carriage. You wanted to sit somewhere a guy wasn't bleeding on you, there was plenty of room.<p>

It had been weeks since he last walked out of Izaya's place. It should never have been familiar enough that something about stepping through the door felt like coming home.

Or maybe it had something to do with the fact he could stagger in in the middle of the night, bleeding and battered, and no one seemed to give a shit. No prying, no judging. Just Izaya glancing back at him, and taking in the way the shallow cut had begun bleeding worse now that they were indoors where it was warmer.

"You should get that cleaned up."

"Ah…"

Izaya sighed as Shizuo just prodded at the cut like it'd just knit itself back together by itself if he stared long enough – hell, it worked most of the time, but then he didn't have as many expensive things to bleed over as Izaya did – and shook his head.

"I don't know why I bother putting the first aid kit away. Honestly, I should just have bandages laid out in little containers like the condiment section of those so-called restaurants you like so much…"

Shizuo ducked his head. "Sorry."

"Bathroom." Izaya waved him off in that direction. "Unless you'd like to find out precisely how I know it's _very _hard getting blood stains out of my floor."

Part of him wanted to argue. Part of him wanted to ask if that was really okay. But since Izaya was probably more concerned about the part of him that was still threatening to mar the polished floorboards with red, he gave in.

The mirrors had been uncovered ever since that day Izaya bleached his hair. The roots were beginning to show again; he'd need a touch up one of these days.

He didn't know yet whether the eyes staring blearily back at him were the old him, a new him, or something in between, but at least he could stand looking at that guy for longer than five seconds. The hopeless disgust was still there, but it felt more aimless than it used to, as though the target it had latched onto wasn't there anymore.

It was a start.

"Here." Izaya handed him some antiseptic-soaked cotton. "For your hands, ne? You don't know what I'll do with your bloody fingerprints all over my apartment otherwise."

"Tch…" He'd forgotten all about the cuts and grazes along his knuckles and palms until the antiseptic made them smart. Sitting down on the closed toilet lid, he grimaced as he wiped off the dried blood and dirt. "Wouldn't fricking put it past you."

"Good. It means you're not underestimating me."

"That'll be the day…" Methodically watching the cotton turn rust-red, he frowned. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe just call Shinra and—"

"Che, I've hurt it worse rolling over in bed." The flea dismissed the idea, and Shizuo wondered how the hell that admission was meant to make him feel better before he realized that it _wasn't_. Izaya didn't do shit like that, and for that he was grateful. Even if the flea was only saying this stuff because he genuinely didn't see the connection between his injury and Shizuo's responsibility – or lack of it – he appreciated the bluntness. He'd kind of missed it. "It's just in one of those awkward places that hurt just to breathe. But Shinra's good at what he does, so it's getting better."

Tucking up the sleeve of his t-shirt, Izaya brusquely began swiping more of that stinging liquid along the cut on his arm. Shizuo didn't see the point, personally; the kid hadn't managed more than a glorified paper-cut and Izaya's efforts smacked of overkill. But the flea seemed determined, and hell, it didn't hurt anyone…

"Ne, Shizu-chan…" Izaya began, slathering some cream along the wound before pressing a thin strip of dressing over it. "Remember that night you did this for me?"

Shizuo shrugged. "Yeah. After that asshole client took a shot at you, right?"

Izaya was silent for a moment, methodically winding the gauze around his bicep. "There was no client that night. I did that to myself. I just wanted to see what you'd do if you were put in that position. I wanted to see if you'd touch me."

"Shit, flea…" Shizuo dragged a shaky free hand through his hair. "Even for you, that's pretty fucked up."

"But you did, ne?" He felt the brush of warm air against his arm as Izaya laughed a little. "Ah, it wasn't as though you'd have touched me for any other reason back then, hmm? And maybe you were right all along, Shizu-chan… maybe you never should have."

"Tch… you're the one that started it."

"Ah, I suppose that's true. But you could've been the one to finish it. You had plenty of opportunities to."

Yeah, he had. And every damn time he'd wound up back here.

Waiting for the inevitable 'why', he tried to rationalize it in his head. He could've claimed he had nowhere else to go, but that was a lie. He could've gone home. He could've gone to Shinra's – hell knew Celty would've been happier with that move.

No, he just kept coming back because he didn't _want_ to go anywhere else. Because he'd grown far too comfortable with the knowledge he didn't have to pretend. All the masks fell away with Izaya, all that fricking exhausting _trying_. Trying to be normal, trying to be safe.

He'd always just figured it was because Izaya didn't give a fuck. Because the flea never expected more from a monster who was barely civilized enough to be housebroken, let alone anything beyond that, and so Shizuo never had to bother with the pretence of being any more than he was. It was liberating, and reminded him exactly what he was, where he belonged, all at the same time.

And maybe Izaya _hadn't _given a fuck, but… maybe not for the reasons he imagined.

Izaya never asked anything.

"There." Smoothing his fingers along the edge of the gauze, he leaned back to admire his handiwork. "Now you won't bleed all over my things."

"Thank you…"

"You're welcome."

"No, I mean… fuck, flea, for _all _of it." He didn't dare reach out, just gestured at Izaya's injured side. "For that."

"I told you…" Izaya seemed to have the same hesitation, one hand rising to hover ineffectually in the space between them before lowering again on an overdone shrug. "No one kills you but me, Shizu-chan. You can't blame me for protecting my interests, ne?"

Shizuo breathed a short laugh. "Yeah… I remember." He looked up. "Still don't think it was worth it."

Izaya shrugged. "Then that can be another notch in the 'things Shizu-chan and I will never agree on' column, ne? Along with horrible cigarette habits and property destruction."

He took his time following the flea back out of the bathroom. Izaya was in his kitchen, scowling vaguely at his fridge. He shut the door abruptly when Shizuo arched a brow in question.

"I was going to say you could conduct experiments in nuclear fission in my kitchen again, but… well, I've been very busy with work, ne? So there's not much here. You'll have to call out if you want something, which at least means you won't burn the building down, so that's one small mercy…"

"Working?" Shizuo echoed. "Shouldn't you've been y'know, resting instead?"

"Why would I do that? It's so boring." Izaya made a face. "And Kei-kun aside, I wasn't in any more mortal danger than I usually am, so… why not? You went back to work, ne?"

"Yeah, but I get to do it with friends." Emphasis on 'friends', before the flea kept on making up weird shit by himself. "You do it with yakuza assholes who'd dump you in the bay soon as look at you. Ah, that reminds me… I took your gun back to that Shiki guy."

Izaya glanced up, surprise fading to a mild resignation. "Well, that explains a lot. You know I'm never going to live that down, ne?"

"Shouldn't have borrowed a fricking gun in the first place then, huh?"

"And then we'd both be dead, Shizu-chan. I don't know about you but I prefer this option."

Yeah, and maybe that night just… never would've happened instead. Maybe they'd never have done the things they did, said the things they did…

But they had. And it was stupid wasting time on fanciful shit that'd never happen. He couldn't do a thing about yesterday. Today was pretty much done. Tomorrow…

_I have no fricking idea. But I kinda feel better thinking you don't know either._

"You should get some sleep, ne?" Izaya sauntered past him. "Shizu-chan looks terrible."

"Thanks. You look pretty crappy yourself."

"I'm sleeping perfectly well," Izaya said, even though no one had actually asked. "Though failed blackmail attempts do take it out of a person. Shizu-chan knows where everything is, ne?" As though shaking himself out of a stupor, Izaya's stride was more purposeful as he turned for his bedroom. "I think you left some clothes here too, so…"

"Oi, Izaya…"

He didn't even know what he was asking for, let alone whether he had the right to anymore.

Either way, he figured he got his answer when the flea just watched him for a moment, before carrying on his merry way and pulling the bedroom door closed behind him.

"Go to sleep, Shizu-chan."

_You could've been the one to finish it._

It'd have been better for them both if he had. From the very start, he'd known he couldn't offer anything Izaya wanted from him. All this damn… _toying _wasn't right. If he couldn't see himself here, then he should just go.

But not now… the least he could do was explain himself in the morning first.

He let himself into the spare bedroom – not his anymore, right? – too tired to be that mad at his body for the way it began to relax infinitesimally just at the thought of sinking into that fancy mattress and not his narrow, beat-up bed. Peeling off his t-shirt, his fingers caught on the edge of the bandage wrapped around his bicep.

Tch… if the kid had half-hacked his arm off, the dumb flea wouldn't have gone this overboard. Who the hell did he think he was patching up, hah?

_Weak. Pathetic. Useless._

"_Forgive him, ne?"_

Getting into bed, he pillowed his head on his hands as he stared up at the ceiling.

It hadn't been this room, that morning. He figured he'd instinctively gone for Izaya's bed that night because he'd wanted the escape route, and leaving the flea in his own bed was the only one afforded to him at the time. Sure, they'd done other stuff in here, but…

There was nothing about this space that should've felt so bittersweet. Just four walls and fancy furniture, just like that storage unit had been hard concrete and rough walls.

The wall behind him was all that separated him from that morning. He reached up, feeling the cut on his arm pull in a grimly satisfying pain as he rubbed his knuckles silently against the wall.

_Are you in there right now, thinking about it too?_

The thought of doing anything still scared the shit out of him. But if he just framed it a little differently… if he just thought about how pleased the flea'd looked whenever Shizuo grudgingly trusted him, or how stupidly good he'd felt when he could go just that fraction further without bolting, then it took the same act and turned it into something else entirely. It wasn't about anyone else. It never had been. The way Izaya's skin felt against his had never been like anything he'd known.

But it still wasn't fair. What he wanted had nothing to do with it… he just didn't think he was capable of giving the flea what he wanted, and he couldn't even tell for sure that what had happened to him affected that any.

He might never have been able to.

"_But just because this is how he's ended up today, it doesn't mean he's powerless to change it, ne?"_

Tch… who the hell gave the louse the right to make it all sound so easy? So simple. As though Shizuo could change years of their mutual history with just a thought. With just _wanting _to. If he could've gotten all the damn things he'd wanted, he'd never have been in this position in the first place.

_So maybe you never wanted them enough, huh?_

Damn it all…

Kicking off the sheets, he got out of bed, padding across the darkened room. It was never dark in Izaya's apartment; he could never tell where the hell it came from – the city itself, maybe, thriving and pulsing and alive – but there was always a glow seeping in from somewhere beyond the vast, impersonal windows.

Kinda like the flea himself, really. There shouldn't have been any light in him after everything they'd done to each other over the years, or after all the shady schemes he'd pulled, but still…

There was no light around Izaya's door though, and he wondered whether the flea had just slipped out quietly and left him to it. But as he pushed open the door, the gleam from the building across the street outlined a figure curled up under the sheets.

Izaya didn't say a word as he glanced back over his shoulder, expression impossible to read in the half-light. Shizuo didn't mind. Sometimes things were a hell of a lot easier when the flea didn't talk. They were definitely better when _he _didn't.

The expensive mattress barely dipped under his weight as he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing the door. Now that he was here… what if the flea didn't even want him to be? Hell if Izaya hadn't been keeping his distance all night, even if he'd been the one who asked him back here to start with…

Warm fingers brushed against his hip as Izaya reached past him, flipping down the edge of the sheet in silent, undemanding invitation.

When he looked back, the flea had already turned to face away again, breathing too evenly and carefully to be dozing, nothing but glossy black hair against the pillows and a pale expanse of his bare back sweeping down to the waist of his jeans.

_Your call, Shizu-chan._

Tch…

There'd be no excuses for this. No claiming he didn't know what the hell was going on, or what he was getting himself into. He knew with a frightening intensity where things stood, and for that reason alone he didn't _want _it to be his damn call…

_But what about the rest of it, hah? Do you want that?_

The bed frame didn't so much as creak as he climbed awkwardly under the sheet, clumsy and shy just because he had no fricking idea how else to be. Damn it, if Izaya looked at him now, or said something stupid, he swore he'd lose his shit and flee back to the other room.

Izaya just kept breathing, slow and steady, slender shoulders rising and falling in a lulling rhythm, his skin disarmingly warm and reassuring as Shizuo tentatively rested a hand on that narrow waist, feeling the static jolt of contact. It was too dark to make out where the bruises and marks from the gunshot wound began or ended, but he whispered his thumb back and forth with more care than he'd ever shown anything, just in case it hurt.

_I'm done having anyone hurt because of me. I'm done having _you _hurt because of me, stupid dumbass louse…_

It was a nothing sort of touch, but the flea shivered anyway, and Shizuo couldn't even remember how his other arm wound its way around Izaya's chest, or how his face ended up pressed into a pale shoulder. Just that something in the flea's warmth or his scent or just the fact that he was fricking _there_, that they both were, beaten and bruised but – somehow – still breathing, made something deep inside crack and crumble.

Skinny arms wrapped over his as a warm back pressed closer against his chest, and he shuddered at the hushed, pleased sigh that drifted warm and lazy across his fingers, because he still didn't know what the fuck he was doing but even he could tell he was finally doing something _right._

'Bout fricking time…

He still didn't know how to explain it to the flea, this odd disconnect between what he wanted and the things he could actually offer. He didn't know how to explain it to himself, when the very act of trying as good as tore him in two, into a him he recognized, and a him he barely understood at all.

But he _would _explain, somehow, 'cause the flea deserved that much.

And for now, he could at least offer this.


	26. Chapter 26

Originally posted at the Drrr kinkmeme on Livejournal (parts 225-243).

_**Warnings : Some non-graphic references to rape that may be potentially triggery. Some quite-graphic (I guess? XD My gauge for that kind of thing is pretty warped, so...) sex, both Shizaya and Izuo. **_

A/N : Final part! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting - I hope this is a satisfactory ending for you all. ;D

* * *

><p><span>What You Don't Surrender - Chapter 26<span>

When you thought about it, there was something terrifyingly vulnerable about sleeping with somebody. Just sleeping. Allowing another person that close while you were utterly defenceless and trusting that they'd keep you safe, well… it was a really dangerous thing to do, ne? Especially when said other person had an extensive list of reasons to murder you while you slept. It didn't fit in with an ethos of self-preservation at whatever cost at all.

Of course, _last_ time he'd woken up in Shizuo's arms, the monster had been drooling on his stomach while snuffling in his sleep, and the only risk to Izaya's wellbeing would have been the protozoan mistaking his substitute pillow for pudding.

_Ah, but that's not how you're dangerous, is it, Shizu-chan?_

He wouldn't have been surprised to wake up alone; as skittish as Shizuo had been last night, Izaya still wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't fallen asleep that way too. That Shizu-chan was still in his apartment, let alone his bed…

Sitting up, he winced at the ache that trudged its way from his shoulder to the healing wound on his side. Fine, so he hadn't been _completely_ honest when he'd said the tumble back at that warehouse had been harmless, but when the alternative had been sending Shizuo fleeing back to his shell – and worse, back to his own apartment – what was one more little white lie to add to the rest?

At some point while he slept, Shizuo had loosened his hold. Izaya tried his best to be affronted, but it was hard to feel irritated when he couldn't remember the last time Shizu-chan had looked that comfortable while he slept. One arm was still tucked under Izaya, while the other was draped loosely across the blond's chest. The cuts and scrapes on his hands already looked as though they'd been there a week, fading and old rather than new and angry. There were still shadows smudging beneath his lashes, but that perpetual scowl had eased.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Izaya brushed aside a messy lock of bleached hair and poked one ringed index finger between Shizuo's brows. Not even so much as a crease.

_What are you doing, Shizu-chan…?_

"Nnn…"

It wasn't so much a groan as an irritable whimper, like a kid who'd been told he needed to get up right this instant or he'd be late for school. As he watched, Shizuo tried to swat at the tickling hand, grumbling under his breath as he ineffectually tried to roll over and go back to sleep.

Izaya had no objection to that idea – it didn't look as though either of them had been sleeping particularly well lately, though obviously, by dint of experience he carried it off better than Shizu-chan – but somewhere in the middle of trying to figure out what his arm was stuck on, brown eyes snapped open with a start, staring at him.

"Good morning, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo blinked, to all appearances wide awake but clearly needing a moment or two for his sluggish thoughts to remind him what he was doing in Izaya's bed.

_And what he's not, ne?_

"Ah, yeah…" Shizuo scrubbed his free hand over his face. "'Morning."

Taking pity on that awfully awkward expression, Izaya sat up, stretched, and tried not to wince as the action tugged on his side. Kicking off the sheets, he shifted to perch on the edge of the bed, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Did Shizu-chan sleep well?"

_Why are you here?_

That frown was back, carving little valleys between the blond's brows. Izaya didn't ask whether the puzzlement was at the fact he'd slept _at all_ or just the fact that he'd done it so peacefully in this bed. "Yeah, I guess I must have."

"Good. Because I told you last night, Shizu-chan looked terrible, ne?"

Shizuo smiled a little. "And I told you you looked pretty crappy yourself, flea."

"If someone with standards as low as yours thought so, then it must be true." He stood. "I'm going to shower first. You should go back to sleep."

_Why are you here?_

"Nah, I'm awake now anyway. Don't wanna spend the day being lazy."

"Suit yourself. Ah, but if you want food then you'll have to order in. Or we could go out. It's probably past the breakfast rush by now, so it'll be quiet."

Shizuo grimaced. "I'm not hungry. I'm… still too fricking wrung out to eat."

"Well, tell me if you change your mind, ne? My treat."

"Yeah…" the blond snorted softly. "What about you? Shinra'd be pissed if he knew you were starving yourself after he went to the trouble of fixing you up."

"I'm not starving myself, I just… haven't been home much. Busy, busy, ne? And Shiki-san's been working me to the bone ever since I…"

Shizuo arched a brow. "Borrowed an illegal weapon and forgot to take it back?"

"Something like that." He smiled wryly. "And groceries tend to slip your mind when you're hunkered down in hotels."

"Hotels?"

"Sometimes it pays to work without distractions. Ah, I know it must seem extravagant to someone who couldn't afford an hour in a love hotel on his salary, but it was in everyone's best interest that I lay low. Well," he shrugged, "mostly mine. I didn't think that brat would go to the lengths he did."

"…you knew about those photos?"

Izaya nodded. "He sent me copies."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I thought I could deal with him before I had to. I just… thought I knew what he was after. I thought I understood what he wanted."

And just like he'd made that mistake with Shizuo, he'd done it with Kei, too. He still berated himself for miscalculating so badly, for convincing himself that he got it when he didn't know a thing. He didn't make those kinds of errors. He didn't let silly things like fear get in the way of his bigger plans.

Why should he? Those who pulled the strings controlled even that, ne?

"And anyway… I didn't think you'd want to know that I'd seen them. Shizu-chan was bound to get some stupid ideas in his head about that, ne?"

Like shame, or disgust, or pity, or that somehow a few pixels on a screen would be enough to sway Izaya Orihara when his mind was made up.

Shizuo looked up at him abruptly, all those stupid ideas painted clearly on his face.

"Flea—"

"They were just photographs, Shizu-chan." He paused in the doorway. "Just because they captured a moment, it doesn't mean it changes anything."

He knew from the way Shizuo looked at him what the blond wanted to ask; Izaya had no intention of even gracing it with a response. Instead, he just stared it down until Shizuo relented, looking away with a soft exhale.

"Yeah. I guess so."

Izaya nodded. "Besides, Shizu-chan should know by now that none of the stupid things he thinks are true, ne? And even if they are," he shrugged, "then they don't matter."

Shizuo sent him a sidelong look. "I'm not the only one thinking stupid things though, am I?"

He blinked, backing out of the door before that knowing look in the blond's eyes had him admitting that little lapse into unbridled and immature jealousy last night. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The chuckle and "Idiot flea…" trailed down the hall after him as he escaped to the bathroom.

Unbridled and immature it may have been, but it was hardly _irrational._ He'd never liked other people playing with his things.

In the steamy confines of the shower, he leaned his hands against the tiles and closed his eyes.

_Why are you here? Why, why, why…?_

It wasn't as though he hadn't wondered last night, when Shizuo made that phone call and changed his plans. He'd been caught somewhere between triumph, relief and the brutal conviction that Shizuo was only capitulating to his misplaced guilt again and wanted to make sure Izaya didn't keel over on the way home.

Fragments of images and sounds tugged at his memory. The hesitant push of his door. The tension that had hummed through the mattress when Shizuo sat down. The silence. The blond's profile when Izaya dared look back, when he dared make an offer he'd thought was stupid enough at the time; he'd been certain Shizu-chan would bolt.

But he hadn't. Warmth seeped around Izaya's chest in a ghost echo of those arms wrapping around him, holding on tight. Almost as tight as Shizuo's fingers had clung onto his on that grimy warehouse floor.

Sighing softly, he turned his face up into the spray.

"Do you even _know_ what you're doing, Shizu-chan?"

Ah, but maybe he was still asking that of the wrong person, ne…?

Shizuo was already dressed by the time he got out of the shower, and looked suspiciously as if he was getting ready to leave. He looked up sheepishly as Izaya quirked a brow.

"I suppose you'll want to borrow the train fare home, too?"

A faint flush stained the blond's cheeks and he dragged a hand through his hair. "Uh… I guess so. I'll pay you back. I just have to go and pick up my keys first."

Plucking his wallet from the jacket he'd left carelessly draped over the arm of the couch, Izaya counted out just enough yen for a ticket; if Shizu-chan wanted to sneak off and stuff himself full of fast food on the way, he could pay for that himself. Which was, yes, contradictory and stubborn, but the offer of breakfast had come with the unspoken stipulation that it happened _with him_.

This was his answer though, wasn't it? Why was Shizuo here? What was he doing? Apparently, getting away as soon as humanly possible.

He handed over the money. "What'll you do now?"

It hadn't seemed like a particularly trying question, but he realized the depth of what he'd actually asked when Shizuo looked at him blankly.

"Uh… I don't know. Go home, I guess. Go to work."

For all Shizuo had wished for it to be over, for all Izaya had vowed to see his plans through… neither of them were left with much now that it was done. There was no reason for Shizu-chan to feel obliged to associate with him anymore, ne? If the protozoan had so much as a tiny, pea-sized brain, then the smartest thing he could do would be to get as far away as he could.

And there would have been a time, back when the masks were more important than anything else, when Izaya would have been fine with that.

"That's right, ne? Shizu-chan has settled back into his routine lately. That's good."

Staring at the money he kept turning over in his hands, Shizuo shrugged. "Maybe. Still feels like I'm putting on some damn act though. Like being _that_ me feels off, somehow."

"It's all you, ne…? This is just a you with… a few more experiences to process. Shizu-chan shouldn't try so hard."

Shizuo snorted. "I must be screwed if you're giving me advice."

"Well, I told you all along, right? The sooner everything's back to normal, the better we'll both feel." And it was all Shizuo's fault, because if he hadn't noticed that scowl deepening between the blond's brows again, if he hadn't felt flickers of hope and despair in equal measure at the thought that Shizuo didn't _want_ that old normal back, he might never have added, "But if Shizu-chan can't deal with it, then he can always come back here, ne?"

Shizuo stared at him, the frown giving way to a slack surprise. "Flea…"

"You're not going to go to the trouble of explaining all this to anyone else, are you?" The grimace tightening the blond's mouth was answer enough. "Whether we like it or not, I'm the only one left who knows everything. And seeing as I _may_ have, possibly, complicated things a little, then… it's only fair." He plastered on a smile. "It's fine, ne? Don't worry that I'll get the wrong idea, Shizu-chan."

The smile felt frozen in place when Shizuo glanced at him, a wary resignation in his gaze. It didn't quite match the things he'd seen in the monster's haunted eyes that night on that rooftop, but that's where Izaya went in his head.

That's where he _always_ went, as though he couldn't quite grasp the futility of replaying that scene over and over without being able to change how it ended.

"You know, I _was_ there," Shizuo said, after a silence that dragged on long enough for Izaya to wonder whether he was going to say anything at all. "I haven't forgotten. So d'you maybe want to stop acting like nothing happened?"

It was just his body cooling down after the heat of the shower, he decided, that made him shiver. "Not particularly."

Shizuo watched him for a moment, before shaking his head. "Dumbass."

"Hmm, I prefer to think of it as 'it wasn't much fun the first time, so why would I do it again', ne?"

Whatever he'd expected in response, it wasn't the way Shizuo ducked his head and muttered, "Yeah… sorry."

"Why? It's hardly Shizu-chan's fault. It was the worst possible thing to say at the worst possible time."

"Yeah, it was." That whiskey gaze met his. "Was it true?"

And there it was, the perfect opportunity to end it once and for all, to say the words that would send Shizuo back to his dull little life and Izaya back to his, neither of them much the worse for wear for the events of the past few months.

"No." He shook his head, smiling wryly. As if that was even an option anymore. "It _is_ true."

If life was a shojo manga, this would be the point where Shizu-chan flung himself into Izaya's arms, ne? There'd be tears and declarations, and flowers appearing arbitrarily in the background.

Izaya smiled, watching Shizuo just nod dumbly to himself as that small scrap of information altered ever-so-slightly whatever had been going on in that protozoan skull. That would _never_ stop being fascinating to the point where he forgot to breathe, he thought, watching someone's perspective skew at just a tiny new fragment of knowledge. He was a little relieved that it could _still_ be fascinating, even when it mattered more than usual.

"You don't seem to be as appalled by it as you were last time, Shizu-chan," he observed, just for something safe and familiar to do.

_And at least you haven't equated my loving you with the men that raped you this time, ne?_

It was cruel and unfair even as a thought, but he still thought that accusation had hit him harder than any bullet ever could. That he deserved it didn't mitigate the hurt it left behind.

"D'you think I'd have come back here if I was? I… just lemme get my head straight, okay? I know I haven't done a decent job of it so far, but I don't want to jerk you around when… shit, flea, I can barely even get my head around going to work. Or dumb crap like picking up groceries." Shizuo's laugh was quiet, self-deprecating, but only a tiny bit bitter. "I'm gonna wind up being the creepy guy who stands in the convenience store looking at the same two packets of noodles for an hour, I swear…"

"Ah, but it's important to take nutrition seriously, ne?"

"Yeah…" The blond's smile faded. As though he was only seeing it for the first time, he scanned Izaya's apartment, lips pressed in such a thin, tense line that he wondered what Shizuo had been looking for in the first place. He hadn't found it, he knew that much. "I just feel like I've been in limbo, does that sound stupid?"

Izaya shrugged. "You have been. Frankly, I wouldn't _want_ you making any important decisions in that state. It'd be too much for your fragile little protozoan brain to handle, ne? The poor thing's overwhelmed at the best of times."

"Bastard." There was no heat in the insult; it was almost affectionate. "It's mostly that way because of you."

Ah, he supposed that was true. For what he swore would be the last time he'd waste a thought on them, faces spun through his mind: Hayashi; Satou; Nishimura; Takahashi. No one would be worse off without them, and he didn't regret his choices for one second, but…

It had been a high price to pay, ne, watching Shizuo break a little more with each of their downfalls. There was no way to stop once he'd set his plans in motion, not without looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life, but sometimes he wondered where they'd be if he hadn't pushed Nishimura to that fateful decision. If Shizu-chan didn't know the full extent of Izaya's involvement.

It might have been impossible to keep it from him forever, but…

_I thought you'd be bound to me tightly enough by then, ne? I thought you might be pleased._

He should have known, though, that the protozoan could still take him by surprise even now. The bills crumpled in a clenched fist as Shizuo went on, oblivious to Izaya's thoughts. "Ever since you got hurt, I… I don't know that I've been thinking at all. Just kept telling myself that it was my fault. That you'd done all that shit for me, done all the shit _I_ should have done, and I didn't say 'thanks', I got you shot up instead."

The silence of the apartment rang in his ears. Dust motes danced in one of the too-bright shaft of morning sunshine that cut through the blinds. And Izaya really did think he was awake, and not still enjoying some fantasy where _that_ was Shizuo's concept of limbo.

Laughing softly, he shook his head ruefully. "You really _are_ an idiot, ne, Shizu-chan?"

Shizuo scowled. "Like you didn't know that all along."

"True, but your disguise is so convincing, now and then I need a reminder."

"Tch." Even the glare looked hopeless. "Look, I have to go. I can't ditch anymore work, not when Tom and Vorona have been covering that much for me already." Shizuo hesitated. "…can I come back later? I'll bring your money."

Strolling closer to the window, Izaya leaned a hip against the desk, arms folding across his chest. "As long as you bring enough to get home this time, ne?"

"Yeah," the blond laughed shortly, "I don't wanna be your kept woman or anything." Brown eyes went wide. "Not that I'd… or that you'd…" Looking as flustered as he was angry, Shizuo shoved his fingers through his hair as he stalked towards the door. "Ah fuck it, you knew what I meant."

If there was a hell, Izaya thought, there was probably a special part of it set aside for him for enjoying Shizuo's discomfort this much.

"You don't want to be my kept woman, Shizu-chan." He smiled at the door as it slammed shut behind the blond's retreating back. "I'd make you work much too hard for it."

* * *

><p>'Later' turned out to be so close to midnight that it might as well have been 'tomorrow', and if he hadn't thought he owed it to the flea not to be an idiot, Shizuo might have stayed home. Hell knew, Izaya's schedule was messed up enough without his help.<p>

But when they'd finally finished work for the day, and he had to decide where to go, well… 'home' didn't feel like the poky little apartment where he lived anymore.

Stopping by long enough to pick up his wallet, he'd turned they keys over idly in his hands. Vorona had given them back with such dutiful solemnity, he'd have thought there was anything in the place worth stealing. She'd looked puzzled when he said as much.

"Senpai entrusted the job to me. Therefore the job will be carried out to the best of one's abilities. Senpai's belongings are also important and must be shown great care."

She'd never struck him as the type to be any more attached to possessions as he was, but he'd smiled anyway and patted her hair. "Thanks."

"Was Senpai's job also carried out satisfactorily? Were suitable reparations able to be made?"

"Ah, I don't know about that… but I got to say 'thanks', so that can't be bad, right?"

"Affirmative. Other party surely values a gesture of gratitude and conciliation." A look crossed her face that said in no uncertain terms that she had no idea why the noxious insect of all people might deserve that, but something in Shizuo's eyes must have given him away, because after a moment of scrutiny she'd nodded decisively. "Senpai sure to succeed, no problem."

He wasn't sure about the 'no problem' part; Izaya was a living, breathing, walking problem, most of the time. Even if his schemes had nothing to do with Shizuo, the louse was still trouble. Always had been, always would be.

Despite that, an easygoing comfort settled over him the moment he set foot in Izaya's apartment. No, even before that; the flea opening the door and inviting him in with a drop of one shoulder and the tilt of his head felt better than going back to empty silence. When, exactly, had his soul stopped seeing this place as enemy territory, but rather as a place more familiar, more _safe_ than the room he'd been paying rent on for the past few years?

Tch, it was all Izaya's fault, anyway, for letting him treat this decidedly _un_homely place like home. For the undemanding silences, and the ashtray plates, and the covered mirrors and the extra milk in the fridge.

It was all Izaya's fault that he didn't want to go anywhere else anymore.

"I know you've been skipping work," Izaya said, heading back towards the couch and the glow of an open laptop as though Shizuo's interruption was no big deal, "but this kind of overtime is a bit excessive. You should file a complaint with whatever union deals with unskilled bodyguards with no ambition or better job prospects."

"Nothing like that. Our last job was just a jerk who kept giving us the runaround, that's all." Following, he counted out the train fare in worn and creased notes before gesturing for the flea to hold out his hand. "Oi. Here."

Izaya stared at the crumpled bills in his palm, and laughed. "I didn't mean for you to _actually_ pay me back, you know. But I should have known you would. Shizu-chan can't help but be sickeningly honest, ne?"

"Someone's gotta pick up the slack."

He heard the flea chuckle as Shizuo made a beeline for the window, fishing his cigarettes out of his pockets. "Are you bearing that burden for me, Shizu-chan?"

"Well, I figure some habits are harder to break than others." He grinned at Izaya through a haze of smoke. "You work on yours, I'll work on mine."

Izaya made a face. "You don't look as though you're working very hard."

"Neither do you."

It was still cold enough at night that just cranking the window open an inch or two drew a chill breeze into the room. He figured Izaya still preferred that to the smoke. Leaning against the window frame, he watched the wispy grey whip away from the tip of his cigarette.

"I was thinking, though, today…"

"Hmm?"

"Last time at Shinra's when…" When for all he knew the flea was about to kick the bucket and he'd walked out anyway. He found himself looking back into the room, just to make sure Izaya was there. "Anyway, he was bugging about running that second test, just to be on the safe side. I figure it might not be a bad idea."

From the way Izaya's eyes narrowed, his train of thought had just rattled down the same track as Shizuo's, faster than the Shinkansen.

When his attackers had been nameless and faceless, there'd been a blissful ignorance to it all. Knowing who they were, knowing the kind of crap they were into… he'd known there'd be fallout from Izaya's schemes, some of it stuff neither of them might notice for days, weeks, months, but he hadn't expected something like this to be part of it.

"Because of Kei-kun."

"Because the bastard who did that to him… to _us_, must be pretty fricking indiscriminate."

"Mmm…" Izaya nodded noncommittally. "It's true he didn't seem to have much consideration for his playmates. And much as Kei would like to think otherwise, I doubt he was the only one."

"He's the one you were telling me about, wasn't he? That 'job' of yours."

"Ah." The flea smiled a little. "And as I recall, Shizu-chan went all White Knight over it. Did it change your mind, knowing that the brat you felt sorry for would have destroyed you in an instant if he could?"

Shizuo glared over the top of his cigarette, before turning to stare out of the window. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"But isn't that how you got in trouble to begin with? Believing that everyone has their tale of woe to tell, and that, somehow, it's all your responsibility to fix it? Ah, Shizu-chan's so conceited to think that the world's safety depends on him…"

Not the world. Not anymore.

"The hell would you know about it, anyway? You've never given a shit about anyone but yourself."

"So mean, Shizu-chan! What about my all-encompassing, self-sufficient love for all humans, ne?" Izaya didn't sound pissed. Neither did he sound as though he was denying it when he said, "It's better than arbitrarily throwing your care at the first person with a kind word, don't you think? It's better to admit upfront that you have no need or interest in them loving you back, especially when you know they won't anyway. Craving it as much as you do, when it's stamped all over the trail of destruction you wreak, well… it leaves you weak, ne? Sometimes the world really _is_ as bad as you think, as cruel as you think, as selfish as you think. We've both seen enough to know it's naïve to think otherwise."

"So what…? They're gonna fuck you over eventually anyway, so you might as well just write 'em off from the beginning?"

He could hear the smile. "Well, it does cut out that tedious part in the middle, ne?"

"Shit, Izaya…" He scowled at the glass. "The hell _happened_ to you?"

Because people didn't just start thinking that way all by themselves, even an idiot like Shizuo knew that much. No one arrived on this planet knowing that people could be assholes if given half a chance; that was something you picked up along the way.

"Is Shizu-chan concerned about me?"

And damn it, he couldn't fight the heat that rose to his cheeks at that self-satisfied question. Muffling the embarrassment with a vicious drag on the cigarette, he mumbled, "Someone has to be. You always talk like you're saving your own skin, and then you do dumbass things. Don't even know which one's really _you_."

"Can't it be both? And anyway, nothing happened, though I'm touched that Shizu-chan would worry, ne?"

"Idiot louse."

From the corner of his eye, he watched Izaya laugh softly, before glancing off with a strange, faraway look in his eyes. "You know, I just liked watching humans, that's all. If it was anything at all, then… maybe sometimes you can look too hard, ne? The first time you realize everything's just so ugly and pointless and empty underneath, you can't unlearn it. And when you see things for what they really are, it's hard not to feel disappointed. It's hard not to want to play with it some more."

"Like me, you mean."

Izaya's distracted gaze snapped back to him. "Hmm?"

"That's what you did with me, right? Saw me for what I was and figured you'd play around with that."

"Ah, that's probably true, ne? But not for the reasons you're thinking. Shizu-chan's about the only thing that's _never_ disappointed me."

"Is that why you…?" _Love me._ His mind still couldn't quite process the two separate components of 'Izaya' on the one hand, and the sort of things he'd always thought 'love' might feel like on the other. Damn it, he could hardly bring himself to look the flea in the face, because he knew this holding pattern they'd fallen into was waiting on _him_, and whatever he said, whatever he did was going to be wrong.

"Well, it's hardly for your charm, ne?"

"Tch… what kinda fricking criteria is that?"

Except he could almost see it. Someone who looked at you differently than everyone else. Someone who saw past all the crap you put in their way. Someone who wasn't scared off, or deterred, even when they knew the worst you were capable of.

Wasn't that what he'd wanted too? Wasn't that what he'd told himself would be impossible?

He'd always figured Izaya'd chosen his path, while Shizuo's had been foisted on him without a say so. He still didn't think he was wrong, but maybe the flea hadn't made his choices for the reasons Shizuo'd always assumed.

It was hard, once you'd set off in one direction, to slam on the brakes and do something else. People went with the flow a lot. It wasn't as though he'd been much more than a passive passenger in his life too, sometimes. Choosing to give in to his power… what fricking kind of choice was that, anyway? Anything else had just seemed too impossible for someone like him.

"There's gotta be good too, though, hasn't there?" A carousel of the people he knew drifted through his head. No, not 'people he knew'; his _friends_. And maybe none of them were saints, and some of them were skirting crazy, but they were nowhere close to being bad people. "If you think everyone's just out to fuck you over, then what about the people who're trying their damndest to be decent?"

"You'd be surprised how little it takes, ne? Shizu-chan doesn't see it, because even though you're like that _you're_ decent enough to make me want to puke. That's why the world's such a dangerous place for people like you. That's why you're so much fun for people like me to play with."

"People like you?" he echoed. "Thought you didn't want me counting you in with the likes of them?"

Izaya fell silent, the kind that usually meant he was scrabbling and calculating behind that façade to come across as though the remark hadn't hurt, and Shizuo remembered why it was usually better if he shut the hell up.

"Well, Shizu-chan's the one who said that, ne? If that's how you're thinking already, then—"

"It was a shitty thing to say."

"But you meant it at the time, ne? And you were probably right."

"No." He shook his head, surprised at how much anger he'd managed to pack into one tiny syllable. "No, I wasn't. 'Cause I always kept pretending I didn't care _why_, y'know? Kept telling myself it didn't matter, I didn't need to hear any of 'em tell me why they did it. Why it was me. I mean, I _knew_ why already, right? 'Cause of all the shit you keep telling me. 'Cause I'm an idiot."

"Shizuo…"

"But it did fricking matter. It mattered. And thinking maybe there's no reason at all was even worse. That it really was just as goddamn petty as me pissing on their pride. But you…" He glanced back, meeting a mahogany gaze that looked just a little bit startled. "I _know_ why you did what you did. I might still think you're fucking crazy for it, but… I know."

Izaya smiled wryly. "Do you?"

Yeah, he thought he did. The fixing, and the status quo and needing so desperately to cling to the one constant, the one defining normal. He'd wanted that so badly, and the flea'd found a way to give it to him. The guy who'd always been the selfish, self-obsessed cowardly idiot who'd probably sell his own mother up the river if it meant he could observe something entertaining had taken a bullet for him. Taken all the responsibility Shizuo shirked and still asked for nothing in return.

"Heh…" Izaya chuckled. "That's almost a confession, coming from you."

"Tch, think whatever you want, dumbass flea…"

"I usually do, but thank you for the permission." After a moment, Izaya tilted his head, a little bit pensive and a little bit playful all at once. "You know, people don't change, Shizu-chan."

"Maybe," Shizuo shrugged, "but they can evolve, right? Isn't that the crap you usually spout? No one's saying 'change', just… take what you can from the stuff you know and make something different. Something better."

Izaya laughed, head thumping back against the couch cushions until all Shizuo could see was a pale expanse of neck and a smile. "Ah, the day protozoan logic actually makes sense… it must mean I'm done for, ne?"

"Tch." He couldn't quite keep the sulky little grumble out of his voice, turning to blow an aggressive stream of smoke at the glass. "You're the one who never makes sense."

"Hmm, you know lately I'm starting to wonder whether that's true."

Yeah, the flea wasn't the only one. But then again, he always swore that the day he and Izaya could be in the same room and not fight would be the day Hell froze over. Tch, he wasn't even sure whether this was even considered arguing, since he wasn't mad and Izaya wasn't being _that_ much of a bastard, and nothing was being broken… nothing _felt_ broken. For reasons he could barely define, it felt as though everything was quietly being rearranged and put back together.

"Anyway…," he went on after a moment, "the kid's got an excuse for being a messed up little asshole. He probably doesn't know any other way of fixing things when he's scared out of his fucking mind…"

"Is that so?"

When he looked back, Izaya was watching him with a weird little smirk curving his lips. Shizuo frowned. "What?"

"Nothing." Izaya waved it off. "Takahashi might not have had any consideration for Kei, or for you, but he definitely had plenty for himself. He wouldn't have put himself in that sort of danger."

"Yeah, maybe."

But what about the others? 'Cause sometimes it didn't even matter how careful you were, or how sure you were that you'd made your world so that nothing could touch you… sometimes it did anyway.

'Course, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Just because it hadn't ever turned out particularly well for him, didn't mean that would always be the case.

He waited a few moments for the lightning bolt to strike, his punishment for just that grudging little nod to optimism. All he heard was the sound of his own breathing, and the way the couch creaked softly as Izaya stretched.

"Ah, then you probably should, ne? At least Shinra'll be happy to think you're taking care of yourself."

"You mean he'll quit nagging you for a while if he's dealing with me, huh?"

Izaya shrugged. "I won't say no to any side-benefits."

"Tch, I bet you wouldn't."

"But that's the funny thing, Shizu-chan. Humans revere coincidence like it was a deity in and of itself, but they're right that most things don't happen in isolation. Most actions have consequences, ne?"

Shizuo chuckled. Seriously, he couldn't tell whether it was a good or a bad thing to be that closely on the flea's wavelength. "The fallout."

"Something like that. Or just little ripples and reverberations you can never really account for."

"Are you saying you're not all-seeing, flea?"

"Of course not. I'm normal, ne? Nor~mal. Predicting the future would be creepy and not normal at all. Well… the supernatural kind of prediction, anyway. Most people are easy to predict in the non-creepy way. And I hate unpredictable things."

"Ah, so you keep saying."

"Mmm, like Shizu-chan kept saying 'I'll kill you', ne? I don't know whether I should be glad you're hopeless or feel sorry for you instead."

"You've never felt sorry for me; why would you start now?"

In the glass, he watched the flea smile, wagging one index finger back and forth to emphasise every syllable. "En~ter~tain~ment, ne?"

He turned from the window, just because the idiot louse deserved the full force of his muttered, "Dumbass," but that didn't seem so important anymore. For no reason in particular, his brain chose that moment instead to remind him that he'd fallen asleep once on the couch Izaya sat on, and woken up draped in a blanket that hadn't been there when he passed out.

It'd been obvious even then that the flea was up to something. Would it have made any difference if he'd known why?

He'd thought it was better to keep a safe distance while he waited for his mind to settle, but his body was still too ingrained with the muscle memories carved in this room to accept those conditions. Here in this space, it craved the contact that had trained it so well.

Flicking away the cigarette, he shut the window.

Was he giving the flea ideas he couldn't see through? He didn't know. Maybe. Izaya hadn't needed much on his part to get to this point after all, and if Shizuo had to check himself when he had no idea what he'd done to draw that kind of attention in the first place, well…

Even so, he was pushing his luck as he dropped down onto the couch next to Izaya, letting his head lean against the flea's shoulder as he closed his eyes.

"Wake me in time for the first train, okay?"

"Oh? Aren't you being presumptuous, Shizu-chan? I could have made other plans, you know."

"Have you?"

A purr of laughter shook his substitute pillow. "I was doing some homework on your new best friend. Just in case he decides he hasn't had enough of us yet, ne? It'd be easier if his real name actually was 'Kei', but I suppose it just goes to show how badly I underestimated him…"

Maybe it was habit, or maybe it was just easier with no distractions in the way, but he could feel the way the flea tensed at that.

"If he was smart enough to change his name, then you're probably not the only one who did, huh? Makes you wonder where the hell he came from if he even _thought_ about something like that. I wouldn't. I'd be dumb enough to go by Shizuo even if I got run outta town."

Izaya shrugged. "I don't care where he came from. All I need is something I can use if he tries anything again."

"He won't. He's not scared of us in the same way."

In an ideal world, the kid wouldn't be scared of them at all, but he knew it was for the best; if a little healthy fear kept the brat out of trouble for a while, then it couldn't be too bad.

And he thought that smirk made sense, then. Of course neither of them could really hold a grudge with Kei; they'd been doing the exact same things themselves. Trying to make it better the only ways they knew how. Crappy, awful, stupid ways, but still…

Izaya was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke it was a low enough murmur that Shizuo could ignore it if he wanted to. He thought he probably did. "What about you, Shizu-chan?"

He felt the flea reach out to close the laptop, and a comfortable darkness settled over his eyes, leaving him with just familiar warmth and the scent of Izaya's skin.

_Yeah… I'm not scared of us in the same way either._

* * *

><p>He'd dropped by Shinra's on the way to work the next day, just to get it over with. The four eyes did his best to keep it casual, but Shinra's enthusiasm for stabbing him with needles betrayed how glad his friend was that he'd finally decided it might be an idea to look after himself a little more.<p>

Izaya would have claimed he was _valuing_ himself more, but Shizuo didn't really feel that, and besides, the flea had a warped value system anyway. It was like taking investment advice from a loan shark; they might have been talking about the same thing, but coming at it from very different angles.

But then, when hadn't they?

Celty had been out, so he'd promised to come back in a few days when Shinra got the results back. It was better than sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, and all the memories that came with it. 'Cause he swore, if Izaya looked at him that way a second time, then…

No. If the flea wanted him to think things over with a clear head, then keeping his distance for a day or two could only help. Izaya hadn't reacted much one way or another when Shizuo called to tell him that – he had to, else the dumbass would make shit up in his head again… ah, who was he kidding; the idiot louse would make shit up in his head regardless, but at least Izaya's inevitable misunderstanding wouldn't be on him.

He wouldn't go back until he knew for sure.

_Tch, are you still even talking about the damn test…?_

When he arrived, Shinra opened the door to peer owlishly at him. "Oh? You're on your own?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

He'd seen that smile enough to know it was up to no good. "Not at all. Celty just told me she's on her way back, so I was wondering whether you two had met on the way up."

Shizuo eyed him suspiciously as he stepped into the entryway, but Shinra deflected it with an oblivious smile, padding into the living room on slippered feet.

"Whatever." He toed off his shoes before following. "So?"

Picking up a sheet of paper – filled with gibberish that reminded him of falling asleep in science class, as far as Shizuo was concerned – and handed it to him. "As expected, everything's fine."

Shizuo had no idea what he was reading, but he nodded anyway. "Okay. Good."

It didn't feel much like last time. The fear was just an uneasy ebb, almost complacent. If anyone had been aware there could be a problem, then he doubted they'd have missed the chance to rub his face in it, after all. Izaya was probably right; Takahashi had been too concerned for his own skin to take risks like that.

No, this time… there was just an odd, not-quite-hollow feeling as he looked up from the paper at Shinra's cheery face. He felt empty, but not in a bad way. Empty, instead, in a way that made him think maybe he was allowed to let other things in, now. Empty in a way that said 'start again'.

Empty in a way that said 'it's over.'

"I never thought it was a hundred percent necessary, really," Shinra said. "When I think about how accelerated your body is in other respects, the first one would have flagged up any issues. It's just…"

"Seeing it through." Shizuo shrugged, murmuring absently almost to himself. "This way it can really be done."

"Shizuo…" Shinra sighed. "Look, I know it's none of my business and I'm flirting with a beating just by bringing it up, but are you and Izaya…" There were a million ways the four-eyes could have ended that sentence, and at least nine hundred thousand of those really would have been asking for a punch to the face. "…in trouble?"

Letting out a quiet, huffed laugh, Shizuo shook his head. "Not anymore."

As for the other stuff they might've been in – over their heads being one of them – well…

"How's he doing, anyway?"

"Fine. He's lucky; that wound could have been a problem, but he's healing up nicely. Well, when he deigns to show up for his check-ups." Shinra rubbed the back of his neck with a wry smile. "Though I'd really appreciate it if the two of you could, you know, maybe _not_ get hurt again for a while."

"Yeah, not planning on it."

"Ah, I didn't mean…" Shinra suddenly looked apologetic. "I'm not saying it was _either_ of your faults, just that, well…" Tapping a finger against his lips, the doctor peered up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Having you two need me was _never_ very much fun, because I usually wound up having to replace doors or furniture, but lately…" Grey eyes glanced his way. "I'd rather replace doors than friends, okay?"

"Tch, dumbass." Shizuo scoffed softly. "It's all fun and games till someone gets shot, huh?"

"I'd say the less getting shot that goes on, the better." Shinra nodded. "Oh, we should do something to celebrate! We could have a hotpot party! Celty might even agree to let Izaya come if she can cook for him. Of course, we'd have to find a way to mark the poisoned bowls in case we ate it by mistake too, but—" A knock at the door snapped the idiot out of his prattling reverie, and Shizuo's hackles rose at the too-angelic look on Shinra's face. "Oh! Did Celty forget her keys I wonder?"

Shinra was a crappy actor at the best of times; when he was so obviously delighting in whatever the hell he was up to, he sucked even more.

And really, Shizuo wasn't all that surprised to hear the put-upon "This had better not be a complete waste of my time, Shinra," drifting from the four eyes' front door.

They hadn't done neutral territory for so long, it was a little hard to remember how he was supposed to act. Unfortunately, Shinra wasn't as dumb as he looked; Shizuo could have punched Izaya in the face and the doctor would still have had his suspicions about them. Probably that whole business with refusing to leave the flea's bedside for two days straight and then asking him to lie about it hadn't helped that any…

Besides… there was a strange, jumpy static running through his blood at the sound of the flea's voice.

Strolling into the living room in a swish of furry parka and cockiness, Izaya at least spared him the effort of pretending. "Oh? Shizu-chan? What a coincidence."

Yeah, right.

"How did you know I was here?" As if he didn't know.

"Hmm?" Izaya pointed at the idiot hovering in the background, doing a lousy job at not eavesdropping. "Shinra told me."

The doctor backed up at Shizuo's glare, waving his hands ineffectually. "No, no, I just said _probably_ you might be here today, and I needed to check how he's healing and the only way I could drag him here would be if he knew you were coming too, so…" With a bright 'aren't I clever?!' smile, Shinra turned for the hallway. "I'll go and get the exam room ready, come through whenever you're ready."

Izaya watched him leave, then sighed. "You need to talk to my dear Courier about getting her boyfriend a hobby, ne? I think he has far too much time on his hands. I hear planking on a major highways is popular these days, he might want to try that."

"Asshole." Shizuo snorted. "God help him, he really _was_ worried about you. About both of us."

"Ah, so we've been promoted from the ranks of convenient decoys?" Izaya blinked. "Good to know. He's much more useful if he's invested, ne?"

"I think it'll probably be a good thing that we don't use him for _anything_ for a while, huh? Or, y'know… ever?"

The flea smiled. "I'm not here for my health, you know. Except when I am." The smile stayed, but something in Izaya's eyes hardened, even as he shoved his hands in his pockets, coat swaying jauntily. "So… is it…?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Ah. Good, then." Izaya nodded, and for a fleeting moment it seemed as though the expression on his face was a second thought, there to replace whatever had been there to begin with. Nothing like last time. None of that irrational, misplaced concern. He figured Izaya had probably done enough digging into those bastards' histories between then and now to know whether there might have been any unusual medical expenses or doctors' visits going on. "Shizu-chan's still mine to kill, ne?"

"Yeah." Was it weird to smile at what was ostensibly a death threat? Probably. "That's still got your name on it, flea. Too bad for you I don't really feel like letting you do it right now, though."

"Is that so?" Izaya's coat swayed again, those sly eyes watching him casually. "We'll see, ne? If you abandon me here with Shinra, I'll make you beg for it."

On cue, the baleful lament of "Izaya, you're not my only patient today you know," droned from somewhere down the hallway like an especially whiny ghost. Izaya glared back at him as he headed towards the exam room.

"You owe me, Shizu-chan."

Yeah, he really did.

"Then I'll wait for you." At Izaya's surprised look, he glanced away, busying himself with his cigarettes. "I mean, I have to wait for Celty anyway, so…"

Izaya smiled. "Ah, Shizu-chan's so thoughtful towards his friends."

"Tch, screw you."

Peeking from around the corner before skipping off after Shinra, the flea laughed. "Hmm, apparently _very_ thoughtful. No wonder you're so popular."

He was already out on Shinra's balcony, watching the clouds go by as he burned down a cigarette he wasn't smoking, when he realized that the gentle banter had passed him by without a flicker of shame or embarrassment. A few months ago, the very suggestion would have earned the flea a fist to the face. Now… there was a break somewhere in the chain between Izaya's teasing and the things Shizuo associated with the words. He still knew they were there, he doubted that would ever really go away, but it was no longer as visceral as it used to be.

The first thing he thought of wasn't cold concrete anymore, but warm, careful fingers, and his mind found it preferred to linger there instead of going any further into the dark.

He turned around as the balcony door swished open quietly, elbows resting on the edge of the rail. "Hey, Celty."

The Dullahan's shadows puffed in a silent greeting as she joined him. [Shinra said you'd be coming by today.]

"Yeah. And everything's fine, so I figured I'd come out here and kill myself with these instead." He chuckled, gesturing to the cigarette, knowing that most of it had turned to ash while he daydreamed.

[I'm happy to hear that.] Celty bumped his arm with her shoulder. [The first part, anyway.]

"Heh…"

[Are you okay? Otherwise, I mean?]

Squinting at the tip of his cigarette, Shizuo shrugged. "Getting there."

[I'm glad.]

Movement inside the apartment caught his eye. Through the glass doors superimposed with their ghostly images, he watched the flea try to wave off Shinra's attentions, doing that dumbass thing he did where he managed to look frustrated and unimpressed all at once. Every quirk of thin brows, every exaggerated shrug of narrow shoulders… it was funny how he'd never paid much attention to any of that stuff before. He'd just seen that smirk and saw red. He'd just heard those taunting words and then nothing but the roar of his rage in his head as every one of those well-aimed barbs hit their target with perfect accuracy.

Whether he'd ever actually seen Izaya, he didn't know. He'd seen _an_ Izaya. He'd seen one of the masks, one of the disguises, and only what the flea allowed. Even now, it was hard to be sure what Izaya chose to show him, how close he was really permitted.

It was pretty damn fricking hard to trust a guy like that.

_But sometimes I think you're the one that finds it hardest of all, huh, flea…?_

His gaze shifted when he felt Celty typing methodically.

[Is he the reason why?]

"Hah?"

[I couldn't understand why you'd decided to stay with him. You hated him, and he'd only take advantage of your situation somehow.]

He snorted softly, watching the smoke drift. "At the time, I don't think I'd have given a shit if he _had_."

And that had been precisely why Izaya had been the safest place he could be.

[I think… I just hated that there was something he could do for you that we couldn't, you know?]

Shizuo shook his head. "It wasn't like that. I just felt less of a shit when I was asking it of him, that's all. I mean I _like_ you guys," he laughed a little, reassured by the way Celty's shadows danced in mimicked response, "probably too much to be able to talk to you about something like that."

[But you didn't like him.]

"Nah. Couldn't stand him. And I figured that since he couldn't stand me either, nothing he found out would make that any worse."

[We would never have thought any less of you, you know that don't you?]

"Yeah." And he did, that was the strange part. "At the time, though… I didn't know much of anything."

Just that, for reasons that eluded him back then, he believed Izaya when the flea said he'd fix him. Celty was right – she'd _always_ been right – in that it was one hell of risk he'd taken. He'd known that. He could have put a lot of it down to the way he hadn't given a shit what happened to him, that if Izaya wanted to drive in that final nail then the flea was more than welcome, but was that really enough to explain it?

Had something in him known all along why Izaya did what he did? Had there been a piece of him, that desperate, yearning thing he'd beaten down till it was nothing but bloodied and feeble and hopeless, answered to something in the flea from the beginning?

Hell if he knew; all that soap opera psychobabble always struck him as something middle school girls giggled over as they read manga that drowned in pink and flowers. If someone came up to him and started spouting crappy nonsense about soul mates and sublimated desire, he'd have beaten the living shit out of them. People were more complicated than that. _Life_ was more complicated than that, and there were some things guys like him were never meant to have.

_It might be kinda nice if it was true though, wouldn't it?_

[The important thing is that you're all right.] Celty typed. [And if he's the reason you're smiling now, then that's all that matters to me. If it's you, then I know that whatever choices you make they're for the right reasons.]

It wasn't the first time this week that such blind optimism aimed at his judgement skills left him at a loss. He didn't agree with Celty's faith in him any more than he did with Vorona's, but he offered a noncommittal shrug anyway.

It wasn't as though they knew the damage his choices had caused.

And for all he knew, he was still doing it.

[Are you still staying with him?]

"Not really. We just, y'know… hang out."

[That's…] A flicker ran through Celty's shadows as she typed that could have been laughter and could have been a shudder of horror. […something I never thought I'd hear you say. Ever.]

"Tch, you and me both. But for a louse, he's got a nice apartment. It's comfortable." He smiled around his cigarette. "And besides, I can't leave the dumbass alone. Hell knows what he'd get up to."

Celty's shadows dipped in a wry nod. [Will he cause you trouble?]

"Probably. He _is_ trouble. But so am I, I guess, so it's not so bad. And it's not like I don't know that. All long, he's been… he's been _him_." Watching the flea, deep in some nonchalant and probably creepy as fuck conversation with Shinra, he couldn't help but smile slightly. "He's been a sly bastard who pulled some screwed up stunts, and I don't think I'm ever gonna figure out how that flea-brain of his works. But the shit he's done for me… I don't think anyone else could be that fricking crazy."

_And I don't know that anyone else'd make me feel that safe. I don't know that anyone else could make it okay if it_ wasn't.

His eyes widened at the next question on the PDA screen. Not because of the neat, starkly printed characters or the blinking cursor at the end as if waiting impatiently for an answer. Hell, he'd been asking himself the same thing for a while.

He was just surprised he'd been doing that piss poor a job of not letting it show, that was all.

[Are you in love with him?]

Through the glass, Izaya caught his eye with an exasperated 'if you don't help me get out of this, I'll flush all your bowties down the toilet' look. Shinra kept on talking, but the resigned set of the doctor's shoulders said that he knew his conversation partner was distracted.

Celty could probably say the same thing about him.

Tilting his head back, he watched puffy white clouds scud across a crisp blue sky. It was still a little cold but once you got out of the breeze, there was a mild suggestion of spring about it all.

"Well…"

* * *

><p>Neither of them asked, not even when they were standing on the bustling platform in Ikebukuro station, but it remained an unspoken arrangement that Shizu-chan would follow him home even though his own apartment was just around the corner.<p>

There were a dozen ways he could get the blond evicted, if he set his mind to it. The landlord had already proven himself to be lax with the rules, so bribing him to kick his peskiest tenant out would be one. Persuading the Awakusu that the building stood on prime real estate was another. Calling in favours and arranging an 'accident' that would leave Shizuo homeless was probably taking things a little too far.

If anyone asked, he'd vehemently deny that he'd learnt his lesson, but…

_It just doesn't count unless you do it by yourself, Shizu-chan._

Shizuo was still a little edgy on the train, even if his menacing aura meant that the rest of the early evening commuters backed off. While it may have limited Shizu-chan's transport options, Izaya couldn't quite subdue the selfish satisfaction. It suited him just fine that he was the only one the beast would approach of his own free will to initiate contact.

_It means I don't need to worry when you're out of sight, ne?_

He still would, though. He was already considering extending his debt to Shiki by a freebie or two if it earned him the ability to have a couple of the Awakusu's men on surveillance detail. Fine, so last time he 'borrowed' some of Shiki's men it may have involved kidnapping a woman and child, and fine, so Shizu-chan would probably beat up his bodyguards badly enough that Izaya would be in debt for eternity and some change, and _fine_ Izaya's frustrated helplessness didn't automatically mean Shizuo couldn't look after himself perfectly well…

"_Too bad for you I don't really feel like letting you do it right now, though."_

Ah, it wouldn't hurt to have a little faith, would it?

"You mind?" Shizuo tapped out a cigarette, taking the stairs for the roof instead of stopping at the apartment door. "I don't know what happened to the last one. Guess I got talking to Celty and forgot about it."

Shizuo had been doing a lot of that lately; why he bothered wasting money he didn't have on cigarettes he didn't smoke, Izaya had no idea. The comfort of having that familiar stick between his fingers, he supposed. That or that Shizu-chan enjoyed the concept of lighting cigarettes just to watch them burn. Izaya thought he could probably relate to that, if nothing else.

But that was the problem with addiction, ne? They never truly went away, however hard you tried to suppress the craving. Sometimes, it spilled out in other ways instead.

It hadn't been much of an invitation, but he followed Shizuo out onto the blustery rooftop anyway. The clear afternoon was giving way to a night clear enough that he could just make out some of the brightest stars through the skyglow. An airplane's landing lights blinked as it moved silently against the darkness, and he found himself back on the same roof several months ago, for all he knew looking at the same plane – unlikely, but he enjoyed the sheen of serendipity it provided – and trying to convince a wounded, wearied Shizu-chan that it was in his best interest to stay.

He'd had things to offer then, he thought. Promises made out of smoke and mirrors, alluring whispers of normal, lies that had fooled even him, all of them things that Shizuo could have seen right through if he'd been of a mind to do so, but things nonetheless.

Now… not so much. He might as well have been back on that Raijin playing field instead, knowing that those angry eyes saw how little there was to him after all.

"So…" Leaning back against the railing, he sent Shizuo a sidelong look. "What did my dear Courier want that was so important?"

Shizuo laughed a little, blowing out a thin, gauzy ribbon of unhurried smoke. "The usual stuff. How was I doing, why was I still hanging out with you, when was I going home, was I in love with you…"

It took a second to reassure himself that the sudden lurch that made him think the floor had been kicked out from beneath him was just in his head. The railing hadn't fallen away, the building was still standing and so was he. He wasn't entirely sure _how_, but…

Gathering himself, he tried gamely for a chuckle. It almost worked. "Does she usually take such an active interest in your love life?"

"Tch, she can't take an interest in something I don't have."

Don't _have_: present tense.

"Ah, that's true." Stepping away from the railing, he turned to face the direction of Ikebukuro. "Even in high school, no one came anywhere near you."

"Musta been the company I kept. And the way you were collecting 'em, there was nothing left over for the rest of us anyway. Who'd want your sloppy seconds?"

Despite the images that haunted him, he couldn't help but laugh. "No one. If they're my seconds, then you know they're worthless. I don't let go of the things that truly capture my interest."

Shizuo laughed a little, the sound sinking into the background hum of the street and the breeze. "Sounds about right."

"So, what did you tell her?"

"I told her…" Shizuo dropped the cigarette, crushing it methodically under his shoe, and Izaya found himself fascinated by the action because it was safer than looking anywhere else. "…I told her that if I _was_, then she's not the one I'd be telling first."

"Well, that's… very gentlemanly of you, ne?"

He'd always assured himself that Shizuo didn't have the kind of guile needed to string anyone along – Shizu-chan probably wouldn't even _notice_ that he was doing things that could be construed as stringing someone along, which was dangerous enough.

There was probably no reason to be quite so surreptitious about it, but he found himself careful anyway as he stole a glance at the blond.

Arms folded loosely on the railing, Shizuo's gaze was heavy lidded and contemplative as he stared out over the artificial sparkle of Shinjuku. In profile, it was hard to tell whether the scowl had smoothed away completely, but that mouth looked relaxed. So did the hunch of strong shoulders, now and then delineated in sharp relief when the breeze billowed Shizuo's shirt and teased the ends of his hair.

It was still that same boy he'd watched from across the Raijin playing field, just a little bigger, a little tougher, a little more damaged and worn.

He supposed he was, too; _that_ same boy still wanted nothing more than to tear down this dazzling, overpowering existence and pretend it didn't exist.

_It's funny, ne? You want to be safe, and I'm done with trying to be._

He'd been staring so intently, he didn't even notice that Shizuo had turned to face him, brown eyes guarded but not completely shut down. After all these months, he knew that look; whatever was going on in that Neanderthal brain, Shizu-chan wasn't at odds with anyone but himself.

"C'mon." Pushing away from the railing, Shizuo loped past him on the way to the door. "It's getting cold out here."

"Ah…"

It probably was. Either way, Izaya was happy to tell himself that was the reason he felt like shivering.

It took a little more effort to convince himself when he still felt that way even as they stepped into his apartment. Toeing off his shoes and tossing aside his jacket, he checked the AC controls near the front door, just in case. Nineteen degrees Celsius, the display informed him merrily, and Izaya found himself a little closer to understanding why Shizu-chan enjoyed venting his anger on inanimate objects.

"I'll offer you a celebratory dinner, my treat, on the condition that you stop pressing your luck, ne? As if once wasn't enough." As if once hadn't done so much damage. "I'll even promise not to make fun of you if you want to go to a fast food place instead of getting actual food. Well, I'll promise to _try_."

No answer. When he looked back, Shizuo was still standing in the entryway, watching him with a cranked-up, concentrated version of the expression that had started out on the roof. He'd been mistaken though, he thought, to assume that he wasn't on the receiving end of the conflict in those brown eyes.

An odd little flicker of déjà vu whispered across the back of his mind; he'd felt this kind of quiet tension before. Back then, Shizuo had been driven by anger and suspicion, and Izaya couldn't say with any certainty that he wasn't feeling the same things _now_, but…

It wasn't _all_ he felt. Something else licked at the edges this time.

"Shizu-chan…?"

Last time, he'd been slammed up against the wall hard and fast enough to knock the breath from his lungs. This time, it was a slower, gradual squeeze, but no less oppressive for it. It left him just as breathless as he watched Shizuo take slow steps towards him, awkward and purposeful all at once.

"I don't want that."

He wasn't even backing away, not really. He just wanted something solid between him and the blond's cautious, measured approach. Just bumping into the wall made him gasp, as though his apartment and everything in it had turned into a live wire. Shizuo just kept coming, until Izaya couldn't tell whether it was the way he held his breath, or the way he tried to focus on that too-intense gaze that made him lightheaded.

His voice sounded awfully far away when he asked, "What _do_ you want?"

If it was the deal-breaker question it had been before, Shizuo showed no signs of it. The blond looked exhilaratingly certain as he braced one forearm against the wall just to the side of Izaya's shoulder, and the rush of adrenaline brought with it that glorious image in the distorted Ueno street mirror of a joyous, passionate beast.

Smiling up at that look, he didn't even care that his voice shook.

"Welcome back, Shizu-chan."

The fingers that touched his cheek shook so hard that he could feel the vibration all the way through to the wall. Or maybe that was him, and not Shizuo at all.

"Yeah…"

He caught the faint quirk of a smile and the rough warmth of smoke as the blond lowered his head, soft, dry lips clinging to his own briefly before backing off. That searing gaze watched him for a moment, gauging and assessing in ways Izaya would have been proud of. A frown flickered across Shizuo's gaze as Izaya reached up, fingers carding through his hair. The "Oi…" was nothing more than a sigh.

"I told you, ne…?" Izaya tilted his head. "I don't let go."

Dark lashes fluttering closed, Shizuo nodded, closing the distance again to murmur against his mouth, "If you do, I'll fricking kill you."

Izaya smiled. "Fortunately for you, then, I don't really feel like letting you do that right now."

The little laugh that puffed against his lips stole his breath even before Shizuo's mouth brushed across his again, hot and unsure, but unsure in ways Izaya could deal with. Fingers curling at the nape of Shizuo's neck, he leaned up, opened up, wordlessly telling this beautiful monster that he could do whatever he wanted to him.

_Even if you do just want to kill me. Right now, I think I'd be fine even with that._

It was just a kiss. Shizuo was still a little clumsy at it, especially when he tried too hard. It shouldn't have mattered that much.

But it did.

The weeks between the last kiss and this one crashed down around him, making him greedy and desperate. A voice in the back of his head told him to slow down, told him to be careful, but when the first touch of Shizuo's tongue against his own sent a shock of pleasure down his spine, it was hopeless.

Both arms looping around Shizuo's neck, he pressed himself against that strong chest, not knowing or caring whose heart pounded hard and fast between them. One hand still cupping his cheek, Shizuo stroked the other down his back, fingers splaying at the base of his spine to pull him close. He didn't know which one of them groaned as the kiss deepened either, only that it was devouring enough to hurt and sweet enough to make his head spin.

Even when they parted to breathe, neither of them could leave the other alone, lips connecting in brief licks and nips, a little too shaky to be playful.

He didn't ask; he might have had his doubts before, but _this_ Shizuo wouldn't do a damn thing unless he was sure.

Instead he held out a hand, chest fluttering at the way Shizuo took it without a moment's hesitation.

"Come on."

* * *

><p>He didn't know where they were going. He didn't <em>care<em>.

This was still the only thing that felt right. Not just the past few weeks and months, but _ever_. This was him, no defences or pretences, every ugly scar and unforgivable flaw on display and Izaya still kept looking at him like that anyway. Still kept kissing him, stopping every few moments on the trip down the hall as though if he looked away for too long, Shizuo might disappear.

_Fuck that. Not this time, flea._

The laugh that vibrated against his mouth as he pinned Izaya against the nearest doorframe, desperate all of a sudden to _prove_ that, made him think the bastard knew what he was thinking all along.

It wasn't so bad; he sucked at trying to explain himself anyway.

He couldn't get enough of the way Izaya tasted, or the way his body revelled in rediscovering it. He swore he'd been paying attention those times before too, but the hunger in the flea's kisses still took him by surprise. Had he been holding back, all this time? Or was this just the way it felt when you were too lost to care?

And it wasn't just him, he realized, laid bare. That scrawny, sly, pale neck that flushed pink under the attention of his mouth was on the line too. If he'd never met the guy who lived behind all the bullshit and drama, he could never have imagined an Izaya to whom it mattered just as much that someone saw who he was and didn't walk away.

His fingers skimmed under the hem of the flea's sweater, more aware and careful than he'd been in his life as he swept his thumb across the uneven skin of that scar. Izaya jolted against him, fingers tangling in Shizuo's hair, but even the sudden sting and the tight grip didn't bother him much.

He _wanted_ to be held too tight, kissed too hard. He wanted to be torn down and remade.

Releasing him for a moment, Izaya groped blindly at the door. Shizuo only bothered to look up as they stumbled into the bathroom, and only then because the flea tensed slightly in his arms.

"Oh, the mirrors—"

"It's okay."

Because if he was going to do this, then he was damn well going to be able to look at that guy afterwards. Maybe he wouldn't like him; maybe he'd _never_ completely like him, but that was okay. Just facing him was plenty. Just seeing someone he thought he recognized in his eyes was enough.

_Evolve, right? And besides… maybe it's not just me I want to learn to get to know again. I kinda want to meet the guy you are when all the bullshit cleans off, too._

The steam rapidly filled the room anyway when Izaya turned on the shower, blotting out their reflections and turning the world misty at the edges.

Izaya paused in the centre of the room, turning to face him. "The old rules still apply, ne? Shizu-chan says 'stop' and we stop."

"Yeah," he nodded, "understood."

He wasn't planning on stopping though, not this time, and the flea must have known that. It was there in the quietly exasperated shake of the head as he reached out to unbutton Shizuo's vest. It was there in the sigh that warmed his mouth as he brushed his fingers against Izaya's jaw, tilting his face up into another kiss.

If the louse wasn't careful, Shizuo'd be okay with just doing this all night. Just doing this _forever_. Just the wet heat of Izaya's mouth, the friction of his tongue, the soft press of his lips.

He couldn't tell which one of them started it the second time, just that movies made trying to take off someone's sweater while they were still trying to unbutton your shirt look far more graceful than it really was. After their wrists bumped for a third time, Izaya swatted his hands away, tugging off his sweater and throwing it aside before resuming his own job.

Running the backs of his fingers down from the flea's shoulders to his elbows, Shizuo tilted his head. "What if I'd wanted to do that myself?"

"You can do it next time." Undoing the last button, Izaya looked up at him. "And all the times after that."

"You talk pretty big…" He watched thin fingers curl into the edges of his shirt as Izaya leaned closer, lips at the base of his throat. "I don't even know if you're gonna be good the first time yet."

Except that he did. Because this was Izaya, and because the stubborn bastard wouldn't rest until he'd played every card he had. And what the hell did Shizuo know, anyway? He had nothing to compare it to. Even the stuff they'd done before seemed a world away from this.

He'd never been touched like this by someone who'd said 'I love you' before.

The heat and the steam already left a sheen of sweat on his skin. His shirt clung to him in a caress almost as careful as the flea's as Izaya languidly pushed the garment off his shoulders, following the path of the white material with his lips as it shushed down his arm. Kisses feathered across his chest, just the barest hint of teeth scraping at his collarbone, his nipples, and his hand had risen to cradle the back of Izaya's head without him even noticing.

He barely noticed Izaya working on their belts either, until he felt his pants sliding down his legs, the steam licking warmly at his skin. He felt the flea kicking his own jeans out of the way, but he found himself hesitating with his own, struck by an irrational flare of vulnerability that only tempered a little when Izaya pressed closer to kiss him again, smooth bare thighs warm against his own.

_It's not like he isn't too though, is it?_

And it wasn't as though it'd be the first time they'd seen each other like this. It wasn't even the first time when he knew full well what they'd be _doing_.

Izaya didn't let him linger on the thought long. Backing up under the spray, the water sluicing over his shoulders and chest in meandering rivulets, the flea watched him with a heavy lidded gaze that looked even more crimson than usual through the haze. Leaning back against the tiles, Izaya skimmed one hand down his body and extended the other out towards Shizuo in silent invitation.

Heart hammering so hard that he swore his ribcage shook, Shizuo felt himself hesitate. If he took that invitation, it wasn't just for tonight, for sex, for the flea's body against this own.

Watching him with a satisfied smile, Izaya's laugh danced and curled with the steam. "You're thinking again, ne? And here I thought I was offering you a tempting alternative."

"Yeah…" Taking that outstretched hand he let their fingers entwine, pinning it back loosely against the tiles as he joined the flea under the warm rain. "You are."

The smile melted under another kiss, one that tasted of clean water and the hot, salty sweetness of Izaya's mouth. It was hard to find purchase on slick skin, but he didn't mind; his free hand wanted to explore every inch of the lithe, graceful body that had been willing to throw itself down for him. He didn't think he'd taken the time to appreciate it before, not the way Izaya used to damn near worship his.

So it was the damn flea's turn, huh?

Letting go of Izaya's hand, he dragged his fingertips through the gathering wetness along one pale arm, before twisting his wrist and running his knuckles down the flea's side. He broke the kiss, shifting his attention to Izaya's jaw, his throat, his collarbone, just to hear the sounds he made. His own skin felt a hundred degrees hotter than the water. Everywhere Izaya touched in return felt branded, burned down and made new again. Manicured fingernails dug bluntly into his arms, and it might not have been quite as controlled as Izaya tried to be around him but that was okay too.

_I'm not the only one who needs to forget, flea. If you want me, then fricking _want _me._

Izaya didn't even so much as shiver as he brushed his fingers across the healing scar. Just looked at him with defiance burning in his eyes and said, "I'm not sorry, Shizu-chan."

He'd said that back at the warehouse too. Shizuo had half expected himself to falter, with time and clarity to think about it. He'd never wanted the flea tainted by any of this. Izaya carried plenty of his own shit around without Shizuo adding to it, and one day more than just some twisted yakuza punks would crash down on them.

But more than anything, he never wanted Izaya to be sorry for anything to do with him. There wasn't much he could do for a guy who was still clinging so hard to what was left of his broken disguises, but he figured he could offer that. The flea could regret everything else – and shit, it might do him some good to at least think about the stuff he did from time to time – but not this.

"Good."

Something glinted in the flea's eyes at that, victorious like the flashing jackpot lights of a pachinko machine and it made Shizuo think maybe he was getting the hang of the whole saying the right thing crap. That or Izaya was getting better at hearing the truth, it was all about the same.

One hand gripping wet black hair as they kissed again, he worked the other between their bodies, fingertips grazing stomach muscles that fluttered at the touch before his palm slid along the length of Izaya's cock.

He didn't know what the hell _else_ they were gonna do, naked together in a shower, but the way the flea jerked in surprise, his gasp muffled by the kiss, Shizuo would've sworn the louse thought they were here to play chess. It was so fricking cute he could barely stand it.

Not that he'd _say_ that, obviously. His own cock was taking a shy sort of interest in the proceedings, half hard against Izaya's thigh, sliding in a slow rhythm against wet skin, and if he so much as whispered the word 'cute', he couldn't guarantee it'd stay attached to him for long.

Stroking curiously, he sucked lightly at the side of Izaya's neck just to watch the skin redden under his attention, splayed a hand on the flea's chest just to feel his heartbeat quicken when Shizuo's thumb glanced across his nipple.

"Since when the hell did you get so hot, huh?"

_Since always, or since I fell in love with you?_

"Shizu-chan just doesn't pay enough attention, ne?" Izaya breathed, leaning into every touch like Shizuo's fingers had suddenly turned into magnets. "What else were you thinking about while you chased me like some wild beast?"

"Dunno. Smashing your face into the sidewalk?"

The laugh trembled through Izaya's chest. "Ah, you say such romantic things, Shizu-chan."

"Sorry…"

"Don't be. That's you, ne? That's _us._"

Maybe. They wouldn't be here otherwise, he knew that, but the guy he'd wanted to beat up was both a total stranger _and_ the guy in his arms, and he figured there'd always be a part of him that'd want to make up for it somehow, even if Izaya would've damn well deserved it.

Izaya watched him for a moment, narrow-eyed and thoughtful, before reaching for a clear bottle from the corner shelf of the shower. Taking Shizuo's hand, he squeezed out a slick, oily looking puddle on the centre of his palm.

"Shizu-chan's a hands-on sort of learner, ne?" Setting the bottle back down, the flea's fingers overlapped his, closing his palm on the glossy liquid. "You'll understand better what's being done to you if you do it to someone else first."

It took a moment, and the way Izaya twisted around in his arms to face the tiles, to figure out what the flea meant.

"W-wait, that's not what I…"

"I know." Izaya smiled back at him, reaching back to grip Shizuo's wrist, encouraging his oiled hand towards his own cock. Touching _himself_ was still unsettling, no matter what he could do to the flea, but this time his reaction caught him off guard. The flesh under his hesitant touch pulsed hot and hard. Izaya shifted his hips, and Shizuo's breath hitched at the way the tip of his cock nudged the flea's ass. "But you wouldn't have lasted anyway, and if you're relaxed we can take our time, ne?"

Flushing crimson despite the heat and steam, he gave Izaya's cock another shy, clumsy stroke. "_Who_ wasn't gonna last?"

The flea smiled from beneath wet-spiked lashes, hips arching into the touch. "But I recover fast, ne? I am only twenty-one after all."

"Idiot…"

"Mm…" As though he needed encouragement – which wasn't far off the truth, just not for the reasons the flea probably imagined – Izaya drew one knee up, a foot braced against the edge of the tub. A little flustered, Shizuo glanced down, but that only brought into view his glistening cock and Izaya's ass spread wider for him. "One finger first. I'd tell you you don't have to go gently, but you will anyway."

"I don't…" Shizuo shook his head, embarrassed to hell and back that he couldn't look away. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Swallowing hard, he watched himself reach out, fingertip dragging along the crease of Izaya's ass before settling against that tight knot of muscle. His voice sounded hoarse as he muttered stupidly, "Here?"

"Ah…" The flea nodded, head dropping forward against the tiles. "There."

It was just his fingertip pushing at that resisting heat, but it was his cock that responded, twitching and hardening as though it was carefully working its way into that feverish tightness instead. As though the flea's body was rippling and gripping at the shaft and not just at an awkward, probing touch.

"Shit, Izaya…"

A chuckle shook the flea's shoulders, even as he pushed back. "More." A hand slid against his thigh, tickling and teasing before slim fingers began working his cock. "You have to get me ready for this, ne?"

"Fuck…"

Between the double assault of sensation, the pleasure froze him in place for a second, not knowing whether it traced back to Izaya's fingers, or his ass, or even the sound of his voice. They'd all tangled up somewhere in the back of his mind until he couldn't tell them apart.

He grit his teeth, waiting for signs of tension or discomfort as he added a second finger on the next thrust, groaning softly at how easily it slipped inside. How eagerly that body accepted him.

Izaya tolerated his tentative explorations for a while, before his hips began matching Shizuo's thrusts with a definite rhythm. "That's enough." Wisps of black hair stuck to white tile as Izaya shook his head. "That's plenty, ne?"

As tightly as Izaya held his fingers, Shizuo seriously doubted that. "Flea—"

"It needs to be you now." Izaya looked back at him, giving him one last stroke before releasing him. "Hurry, Shizu-chan…"

He hadn't been able to watch like this last time; Izaya had taken control and for that he'd been grateful. Now that it was all on him…

The images began crowding at the corners of his mind, impatient extras darkening his vision while they waited in the wings for their moment on stage.

_Was this what they'd seen, when I…?_

No… no, it wasn't. The picture cleared and lightened the more he focused on the body arching back against his. The way Izaya's fingers settled on his thigh. The way a half-smile curved those clever lips. The way the flea glanced back at him and murmured, "Please…"

His hands still shook as he withdrew his fingers, pumping his cock a couple of times to remind it to pay attention. He still held his breath, terrified and desperate all at once as he pressed the head of his cock against the hole made a little flushed by his fingers, and, after a couple of sliding misses, pressed inside.

_Oh, fuck…_

It wasn't like he'd forgotten last time or anything, he just couldn't remember it enveloping him like this. He couldn't remember the way his thigh muscles clenched so hard it almost hurt, or the way that electricity bit into the base of his spine. The water kept raining down, sharp warm pinpricks that washed away the sweat even as it beaded on his skin, and plastered his hair across his eyes as he lowered his head, muffling his groan in the crook of Izaya's neck.

"Watch, ne…?" Izaya's head thumped back against his shoulder. "I want you to watch how it feels, Shizu-chan."

So that's what he did. Even when every primal instinct told him to watch the way his cock sank into Izaya's body, Shizuo watched those sly, beautiful eyes instead. Watched the way Izaya's lips parted on a silent cry, the way a darker flush chased across sharp cheekbones, the way those fingers clawed at the tiles.

Against his palm, Izaya's cock hadn't flagged an inch. It still strained at his fingers, short stabbing thrusts that jerked him back and forth on Shizuo's shaft and pushed into his hand. He didn't even need to move, the flea was doing enough to wring pleasure out of both of them. He did anyway, unable to keep his hips from shifting restlessly, the instinctive need to drive himself into that heat, sate an itch he couldn't help but scratch.

"Good, ne?" Panting past the smile, Izaya reached back, fingers brushing Shizuo's jaw. "I told you before, right…? It feels better when it's really you."

"Yeah…" His free arm wrapped around Izaya's waist, holding on as much as holding him close, lost in the feeling of the flea's body clenching and relaxing around him. "I get it…"

He really did. Got _all_ of it.

'Cause hell if he was going to let someone he didn't love – someone he didn't fricking _adore_ to the point that it drove him crazy – do this to him in return.

The louse was right though; he wasn't going to last long. Between the friction, the adrenaline and the sheer fricking inexperience, the stamina that could have him chasing the flea to _kick_ his ass for hours was conspicuously missing when it came to screwing it instead.

At least Izaya wasn't faring much better. A sticky strand of precome hung between the tip of his cock and the tiled wall, kissing the cool surface with every thrust. A flush that had nothing to do with the water graced his throat, his chest, and he clamped down ruthlessly hard when Shizuo nipped at the back of his neck. Did it again when the resulting thrust angled a little differently inside him.

"Ah!"

Fine, so he might have been a stupid protozoan. It didn't mean he was _that_ dense.

The fingers on his thigh curled into a fist when he did it again, and again, and _again_, until Izaya was shaking just as badly as he was, knees buckling, free hand grabbing uselessly at the wall as his hips bucked and something hotter and thicker than water sprayed onto the tiles.

Dragged along by the constricting heat of Izaya's body, an erratic squeezing and releasing that wouldn't even _let_ him move anymore even if he'd wanted to, Shizuo just held on tight, arms wrapped around the flea's chest, thrusting helplessly until the orgasm crashed through him.

He was still shaking as he withdrew, a groan sticking in his throat as he watched a creamy trickle of white sliding down pale skin as his cock slipped free from the flea's body. Maybe it was _safe_ to, but it didn't mean he could just…

Leaning lazily against the wall, Izaya reached back, fingers scooping up a droplet of come from the back of his thigh before watching almost mesmerized as the water washed it away.

"Izaya…"

"It's fine, ne?" The flea nuzzled a kiss beneath his jaw, tongue flicking out playfully. "I _want_ you to come for me…" another kiss, "…come _in_ me."

Shizuo shivered at another aftershock that raced down his spine at the words. "Idiot louse…"

He was still breathing hard while Izaya cleaned them both off and switched off the shower, still dazed when a thick fluffy towel smacked him in the chest.

"No zoning out on me now, ne?" A wicked smile flashed as Izaya picked up his own towel, scrubbing at his hair. "Lesson's not over, Shizu-chan. And if you—mmmph!"

It had just been too tempting, too familiar. This same room, that same amused lilt to the flea's voice… the only difference was that this time, it was Shizuo dragging Izaya closer by the edges of the towel, watching the flea's eyes go wide before they fluttered shut at the kiss.

A scowl met his grin when he finally let go.

"Not fair, Shizu-chan."

"Neither were you."

Izaya made a face, leaving the towel draped around his neck as he opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway. "I wasn't in my right mind. It was probably the fumes from those toxic chemicals, ne?"

Chuckling, Shizuo picked up his towel, drying off, only in a _bit_ of a hurry to follow. "Does that mean you're not gonna help me next time?"

"Of course not." A voice drifted from somewhere in the apartment. "Shizu-chan will expect _favours_ now. I'll pay for someone to come and do it." A pause. "Someone old. And unattractive."

"Tch…" He laughed, feeling kind of dumb for wrapping the towel around his waist as he left the bathroom but knowing the flea wouldn't be mad just because Shizuo wasn't at the point of comfortable where he could saunter around other people's houses ass-naked. "Idiot."

Izaya, he figured, would probably feel comfortable sauntering naked around anywhere. He'd left the towel on the chair, and was sitting on the edge of his bed, one knee bent beneath him. The only light came from that ugly chrome lamp on the nightstand and the skyline outside the window.

It was cooler in the bedroom after the stifling heat of the bathroom, but that wasn't why Shizuo was shivering. It wasn't all fear, either. Anticipation skittered through him as he stared at Izaya's bed, and for a second all he wanted to do was wrap himself up in that feeling.

How bad could it be, anyway, if it had made Izaya look like that? If it had made Izaya _come_ like that.

Walking closer, he stopped just within arm's length, because he'd known Izaya would reach out, untucking the edge of the towel, letting it fall.

He'd had himself braced for a lot of things. Izaya's arms wrapping around his waist, cheek pressed against his stomach, wasn't one of them. Because it made the idiot look so damn _innocent_, he decided. The Izaya he'd thought he knew before all this would never have done something like that. Even more incongruous was the smile he felt against his skin when he awkwardly stroked damp black hair, and the fingers that swirled random patterns at the base of his spine.

After indulging himself for a while, the butterfly kisses and sharp nips that made his stomach flip-flop moved outwards. Izaya's tongue traced over the jut of his hipbone, following the helpful 'v' of muscle down to the base of Shizuo's cock.

"Flea…" The sigh wasn't 'stop', or even 'the hell are you doing?' He just wanted to say it. He just wanted to remind himself who was doing this for him.

His fingers wound in Izaya's hair as that dark gaze flicked up to watch him. One arm still wrapped around him, the flea brought the other hand around to stroke him, cool fingers on one side of his cock, hot wet tongue on the other. He was already hard enough again by the time one long, lazy lick worked its way from the base of his shaft to the head. He hissed as the tip of Izaya's tongue pressed deliberately into the slit, lips pursing tight around the crown and surrounding him in a heat that made his disjointed thoughts line up wrong, made him think he was pounding into that vise-tight body in other ways all over again.

Maybe that was the point.

"O-oi… you don't have to do that…"

A shudder stroked down his spine as Izaya drew back, pumping his cock deliberately as he looked up.

"Why not?" Twisting his fingers in a grip that slid with enough rough friction to make Shizuo grit his teeth, his hips trembling, Izaya licked his lips. "I like the way you taste."

A groan rumbled through his chest as the flea showed him just how much, tongue greeting the head of Shizuo's cock in delicate little licks every time it emerged from the circle of Izaya's fingers. And every damn time he watched the dark, aroused tip of his dick bumping the flea's lips, every time he felt that soft wet muscle rubbing against him, every time he heard Izaya made those satisfied sounds, a look of intense concentration on his face…

"How can it?" He mumbled gruffly, breath scraping past his throat on a low gasp.

'Cause all he remembered was the bitterness, and choking so hard he couldn't breathe, and if he was inadvertently making the flea feel that way too, then—

"Because it's you," Izaya said, shrugging easily, looking up at him. "Because I'm doing it because I _want_ to." The half-smile – maybe a little disappointed, Shizuo couldn't tell – said that the flea knew what he'd really meant. "A lot of things feel different with that little caveat, ne? Was it awful when you did this for me?"

Shizuo shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

"'Cause…"

'_Cause it was you._

He felt the laugh fall apart on a groan as the flea smiled smugly.

Sliding a hand from Izaya's hair, he curved his fingers against that fine-boned jaw, feeling it work as the flea took him deeper again, lips stretched taut. Mahogany eyes widened in surprise, a startled little hum vibrating around him when Shizuo couldn't help but drag his thumb gently across Izaya's lower lip.

"Not hot," he said, feeling the quick rise and fall of his chest as he stared down into those eyes. "Beautiful."

He wasn't totally sure how they got from 'beautiful' to Izaya's fingers biting into his hips and the flea's mouth, hot and wet and tight and killing him with every needy moan, sucking him in deeper. The urge to just tangle his fingers in that black hair, hold on, and fuck that tormenting mouth relentlessly until the flea milked him dry horrified and thrilled him at the same time. He never _would_, they both knew that, but that Izaya turned him on enough that he'd even think about it…

"More…"

He thought he surprised himself more than the flea. Izaya barely even faltered, hands gripping Shizuo's ass, taking a deep breath through his nose just before the constricting heat around him went up a few dozen notches.

"Nngh… wai—"

The pressure loosened for a second, and in the vaguely irritated look Izaya sent him, he understood; it wasn't just him in control of this. The flea wasn't here out of obligation, or some ulterior motive, sure as hell wasn't here out of fear.

_I trust you,_ that look said, _protozoan idiot._

Just to keep his balance when Izaya did it again, Shizuo braced one knee up against the edge of the bed, not realizing at first how that pose would open him up to Izaya's touch.

He didn't think Izaya meant to do it either; it was just the movement, the sweat on his skin and how desperately the flea held him, but he jerked sharply at the brush of Izaya's fingers along the crease of his ass anyway.

"Ah…!" Gritting his teeth, he couldn't control the way his body tried to arch away from the touch, arch _into_ the heat of Izaya's mouth, and the awkward lunge sent them both sprawling onto the bed.

Hands on the back of his spread thighs, Izaya didn't stop, not even when Shizuo tried to push himself up. Clutching the sheets, he leaned his forearms against this arm, burying his breathless grunts in the mattress as the flea's throat squeezed around the head of his cock, releasing him only to lap at the tip before swallowing him again. Over, and over, and over, until he could hear the slick wet sounds of those lips wrapped around him, silvery trails of saliva leaking from the corners to streak down the flea's cheeks.

"Fuck, Izaya, you gotta…"

No, not 'stop'. Never fucking stop.

Of all the stupid things that could have spooked him, it was the way he felt his back arch that scared him. For just a second, he could feel other hands yanking his hips up, other hands shoving his head down, other voices telling him exactly how he looked in this position. What he looked like he _wanted_.

When the haze cleared, he was folded up against Izaya's pillows, knees drawn to his chest. The flea had rolled over onto his stomach, watching him neutrally.

"I'm okay," he managed, throat dry. He felt a little better when he reminded himself that it was mostly that way as a result of the things the flea'd been doing to him, not the panic. "Just freaked myself out, that's all."

Izaya nodded. "Do you want to-?"

"No. _No_." Forcing his body to relax and unfurl, he scooted a little lower. His cock had reacted predictably to his fear, but it was still flushed and glistening, bearing the marks of Izaya's lips and tongue. "I don't wanna stop." He reached down as Izaya leaned up, and fear was the last thing on his mind as the flea's hips settled between his parted thighs. The heat of Izaya's cock nestling against his, _rousing_ his, turned his voice into a low murmur. "I want _you_."

Izaya still looked sceptical – at the scared shitless part, Shizuo hoped, and not at the wanting – but a slight nod melted into a kiss that tasted like both of them.

He didn't have to say anything. If those humiliating fucking photographs were good for anything, at least they meant Izaya knew what _not_ to do.

Their height difference might not have been _as_ pronounced lying down, but it still felt a little stupid to be sprawled on his back on that plush mattress with the scrawny-assed flea sprawled all over _him_. Like last time, Izaya didn't feel scrawny. The body covering his didn't feel as lightweight as it had been in his arms on that rooftop; it felt like it could probably hold him down if it tried to.

Before the panic could dig in its hold, he reminded himself that it'd be okay even if Izaya _did_.

"You're doing it again." A ringed finger poked him between the eyebrows. "Me, Shizu-chan. All you have to think about is me."

"I was." He smiled a little, feeling the frown he hadn't noticed fading. "You're a scary fricking thought all by yourself."

"Shizu-chan's so mean…"

But apparently not mean enough to stop Izaya sliding down his body, pausing arbitrarily to taste him. One lick fluttered its way from the crook of his elbow up to his shoulder, feathering along the juncture of his shoulder until the ticklish pleasure made him laugh. The flea looked especially smug at that part, the bastard. Another lingering kiss drew first one nipple to an over-sensitized peak, then the other, until Shizuo was shivering hard enough that he almost _did_ say 'stop', because the fucking idiot was going to break him before they even got that far.

He couldn't watch anymore, couldn't look at the heave of his chest or the twitch of his cock, or the sweat that mingled with the shining wet patterns the flea's mouth left on his chest and stomach. Closing his eyes, he felt fingers brushing back and forth across the inside of his thighs, avoiding his cock but leaving trails of static everywhere else.

It was like that first time, when those fingers and tongue had worshipped his legs until every nerve was raw, laid open, and he couldn't tell whether he'd been more mortified at the fact that it made him hard, or the knowledge that if Izaya'd carried on he could have come with just that. Even more, the kisses that soothed old, forgotten scars made his chest tight with an emotion he could barely name.

His body went still as thumbs stroked lower, brushing along the tender skin between his cheeks, the line where warm turned to hot, where just touching him turned to something frighteningly unguarded and exposed.

Even more exposed when Izaya spread him, bared him to that intent red gaze, and the barest dab of a tongue whispered against his hole.

"No…" He tried to scramble to sit up, but his body felt heavy and numb, the shock of that pleasure still washing over him. "Flea, wait…"

Izaya paused, for all the good that did when every breath rolled hotly against Shizuo's skin. "Are you saying 'stop', Shizu-chan? Because whatever stupid thing you're thinking right now, it's not true, ne? It's not dirty, or embarrassing—"

"Shit…" Shizuo grimaced, pressing one arm over his eyes. "Shut up…"

The purr of laughter made his cock jerk. "Shizu-chan's pretty here, ne…? And the only thing _I'm_ thinking about is that it'll look even prettier when it's coming for me. So if this is really 'stop', then you need to say it clearly."

The damn flea was already down there; he could _see_ Shizuo wasn't saying 'no'. But his chest still felt light at the fact Izaya asked anyway.

His arm muffling his voice instead, Shizuo shook his head. "Don't sto—hnng!"

The flick of Izaya's tongue against him was a hot lash of lightning that made his hips tremble.

The desire to touch himself, to jerk off to the wet thrusts and licks, was suddenly a bewildering thing. He couldn't think clearly enough past the way that tongue kept on gently prising him open, soothing even as the adrenaline rushed like wildfire through his blood. His free hand gripped at the sheets instead, feeling the fibres protest under his fingers, his breath coming in rough gasps against his arm.

He had no fucking idea what to _do_ with it. The force of the pleasure, the intensity of the things Izaya did to him… his own body's craving for it. The fear had almost been a safety net, something to keep him from drowning in it.

A voice cried out at the first touch of cool, slick fingertips, but it couldn't have been him because that deep, ragged moan sounded _pleased_.

"Relax, Shizu-chan…" Izaya sounded a little bit pleased, too. The flea's voice was breathless and low as those fingertips pushed at him in a quiet request.

"I can't…" He shook his head, desperate with things he couldn't define. "Shit, Izaya, I…"

"Tell me the rules, Shizu-chan." Thin fingers intertwined with his, releasing his death-grip on the sheets. The other set still stroked coolly along the cleft of his ass, making his body jerk instinctively every time they grazed his hole, the still-new memory of doing the exact same thing to Izaya echoing through the sensation.

"I say…" Fuck the rules, he was having a hard enough time breathing. "I say 'stop' and we stop."

But he didn't want to. He could still remember the way Izaya's body had sucked at his fingers, and the thought that the flea was feeling the same thing as Shizuo's body gave in at the touch…

"Is it okay?" He heard Izaya ask, more a plea than a question.

_Tell me it's okay._

"Yeah…" The word left him on a breath, because it _was_. "Doesn't hurt."

"It's not supposed to." Izaya worked his fingers deeper, and even then it just felt like the slow burn of a stretch, weird as hell but not uncomfortable. "It's supposed to feel good, ne? Just like you made me feel good."

It was hard to imagine how Izaya'd felt when Shizuo couldn't even tell what _he_ felt. The body he'd spent so much time loathing for the things it did without his permission burned from the inside out, every muscle aching in a way that just made 'good' feel fucking amazing. His skin felt too tight, too hot, and the sounds coming from his lips weren't his own, even as he heard his own voice saying, "Please…"

He saw the faint smile just a split second before Izaya crooked his fingers, and the sudden surge of sensation made Shizuo's brain whiteout.

"See?" the flea murmured, kissing the inside of a knee Shizuo bent up as his body tried to curl in on itself to hang onto that sensation. "Feels good, ne?"

No. Good was vanilla milkshakes, and sunsets in the park, and days where he wasn't reminded that he was a screwed up, messed up monster. Good had been the days when he managed to hold himself back from beating some dumbass senseless, and the way Tom would look at him, relieved.

This wasn't good. This was everything he'd ever wanted. The body he hated, the body those things had happened to, damn near melted at Izaya's touch, feeling as though _finally_, maybe, it belonged to him again. That it could do other stuff besides hurt.

"Yeah…" he nodded. "You do."

When he noticed Shizuo wouldn't - _couldn't_ - let go of his hand, he heard the flea sigh softly. Narrow shoulders worked their way between his thighs, keeping his legs spread, and the only warning he had was the hot puff of "Shizu-chan…" across the head of his cock before Izaya's lips closed around him.

It wasn't as intense as before, which was just as well. It was hard enough to keep from coming the first time the sly fricking bastard swept his tongue just beneath the head of Shizuo's cock at the same time as his fingertips bumped his prostate.

"Not yet, Shizu-chan." The flea lifted his head, grinning wickedly as he wiped his chin on his shoulder. "This is just the warm-up, ne?"

"Shitty… fucking louse…"

"Heh."

He had no idea how long Izaya just kept that up. Long enough that he couldn't even separate each slow, careful thrust of the flea's fingers from the constant hum of tension. Every now and then, another slow lick along the length of his shaft kept him on edge, the faintest hint of teeth that kept him tethered to himself. The sheets beneath him were damp and clingy with sweat; his skin prickled as the fabric peeled away in a satiny suck every time he moved.

When Izaya finally withdrew his fingers with a sloppy wet sound, Shizuo's body flinching more at the loss than it had when they'd entered him, all he could do was watch as the flea slicked himself up with hands that looked as though they trembled more than Shizuo's.

He focused on keeping his body relaxed, his limbs loose, when Izaya's hand tucked beneath his knee, spreading his legs wider. He couldn't do much about the sliver of fear that squeezed his spine at the touch of something hotter and wider than fingers against his hole, just as gentle and just as insistent. Izaya looked up at him, brows drawing in a helpless frown.

"You don't have to do this, Shizu-chan."

"I know," he offered Izaya a lopsided smile, "that's why I'm doing it."

He'd thought Izaya might stroke him again to distract him, but instead the flea arched over him, leaning down to kiss him even as those fingertips guided the tip of his cock inside. He felt himself yielding to the hard, constant pressure, muscles stretching to accommodate the slow, unrelenting penetration, his body helpless to do anything but take Izaya inside. His throat tightened at the inevitability of it as he felt the flared ridge of Izaya's cock piercing him, his body closing around it with a soft popping sensation like it wanted to keep it there, like it wanted this.

Like he might have wanted it then.

"Shit…!"

Despite Izaya's painstaking efforts in preparing him, Shizuo still tensed and stiffened at the intrusion, panicked at the way it just kept on opening up around Izaya's cock and forgetting for a terrifying second _who_ was touching him and just recalling the way this had _hurt_. How it had broken everything he'd ever thought he'd known. How it'd scared him, scarred him, shamed him.

"It's okay, ne…" The kisses were everywhere – brushing against the frown tugging his brows, against the grimace drawing his lips into a snarl, licking away the sweat that trickled from his temple to his jaw. "It's okay. It's me. Just look at me."

Breathing so hard that the room spun, Shizuo tried. Izaya wasn't quite in focus, but the flea was wrong anyway.

He didn't need to look. It had never been about _looking_

Izaya got the message when Shizuo wrapped his arms around that slender chest, holding on tight enough that it had to hurt. One hand at the nape of his neck, Izaya swept the other down his back, warm and familiar, flooding his memory with all those other touches.

The first time Izaya'd touched his hand. The careful fingers working the bleach toner through his hair. The tongue that licked the milkshake from his wrist. The body that had felt so real, so solid in his arms when he'd kept the flea from head-butting those steps back in Ueno because he didn't want to see Izaya hurt anymore.

Nothing else. Just this. And whatever else, he wanted this more than anything.

It was still hard to breathe, feeling that hard cock inching into him, gaining a little more ground every time Shizuo's body relaxed enough to permit it. Izaya was bigger than his fingers. Izaya was bigger than he _looked_; Shizuo refused to call the way it felt 'pain', but it sure as fuck didn't feel good anymore. And that was his fault, right? If he just relaxed, if he just—

"Shizu-chan…" Izaya's hands were either side of his face, the flea's mouth slanting over his. Apparently, _telling_ him what he ought to focus on had progressed to _showing_ him. "Shizu-chan…"

Neither of them acknowledged the hot tears streaking from the corners of his eyes as he kissed back, ashamed of every pained grunt that Izaya licked away, frightened of every groan that had nothing to do with pain at all, and knowing that both those things were still okay. He was still okay.

Izaya shuddered as he sank in the last couple of inches, buried inside him to the point he could feel the flea's thighs flush against the back of his own. It still wasn't doing much for him, but the pain was giving way to the strange awareness of someone else inside him. He swore he could feel the rapid fire of Izaya's heartbeat in every pulse of his cock, and he didn't know if it was really true but he felt stretched so wide around the shaft that penetrated him that he could feel every minute back-and-forth drag of the flea's skin.

Leaning back a little, Izaya looked down at him, face flushed, shoulders trembling.

"Can I move, Shizu-chan…?"

He didn't answer; his body did that of its own accord, flexing as he drew his knees up higher to bracket Izaya's hips. The movement pushed the flea out a little, before taking him back in again.

It didn't feel bad, that tug of taut skin and the sensation of his muscles clamping down around the flea the way Izaya's body had done to him. It kinda made him want to do it again, tempted by the ghost of something the might have been a crackle of pleasure that spread out from the place Izaya opened him. Grunting softly, he let his hands trail down Izaya's back, settling at the top of his ass.

"Shizuo…"

"Do it." He leaned up, licking the base of Izaya's throat, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. "I want to feel you."

Izaya kissed him again, hard and hungry, before drawing back just enough for the leverage to thrust.

And it really was; he hadn't _wanted_ the flea to go easy on him or hold back, but the sudden withdrawal and shove almost brought him clean off the mattress. He could feel Izaya's ass flexing beneath his hands as he held on tighter, instinct telling him that if the flea just stayed still, just ground his hips right _there_ then…

"Fuck…"

"We are." Izaya leaned down to kiss him again, a droplet of sweat falling from the ends of his hair to splash against Shizuo's cheek. "Shizu-chan… _Shizuo…_…I…"

He still didn't know if he felt good, but he wanted to spread himself wider, wanted to pull Izaya deeper, wanted an extra hand to slide between their bodies and touch himself, feel whether he really _was_ getting hard again just at the way Izaya's cock grazed his prostate knowingly on every slow, claiming thrust.

And he really wanted the flea to finish that fricking sentence.

"Oi, Izaya…?"

Above him, Izaya paused, and Shizuo did the same just to drink in the way the flea looked. His drying hair clumped in unruly black tufts, the ends sticking to sweat-damp skin. His lips were parted, dry from his ragged breathing, and as Shizuo watched a pink tongue darted out to wet them. And those eyes…

He thought maybe they'd been the first thing he'd noticed. Cocky and confident and challenging, that dark slyness had seen through him from day one, tore him down every day since.

"What?" Izaya turned his head, teeth scoring one of the old scars along the side of Shizuo's knee. Mahogany eyes slitted in pleasure as they watched him, Izaya's cock easing in and out of him in a lazy, possessive rhythm, and the fingers linked with his own again squeezed in counterpoint. The whole fricking thing was so contrarily _Izaya_ that he'd have burned the image into his brain if he could.

So he did.

"I love you, too."

Yeah, definitely those eyes. They were impossibly wide, impossibly bright as Izaya froze, staring at him, before laughing shakily.

"Well of course you do, ne? It took you long enough to realize."

"Yeah…" Leaning up awkwardly, he groaned at the way Izaya moved inside him as he drew the flea down into a kiss. "Sorry."

"New rule, ne…?" Izaya breathed against his mouth, hips snapping in a needy rhythm, a hand insinuating itself between his stomach and Shizuo's, seeking out his cock. "Never say that word when you're in bed with me. Actually, never say that word at all."

Shizuo nodded. "Understood."

He didn't care much anymore whether or not he could get hard again with Izaya inside him. His dick had probably given up trying to keep up with his mood-swings, tired of getting into it when Shizuo would only toss buckets of figurative ice water all over it again.

He hadn't accounted for Izaya. For the fingers that worked over him, the right pressure and friction in all the right places. For the kisses, the flea's tongue tangling and suckling at his in sync with his hand, in sync with the in-and-out drag of his cock that slowly began to made the base of his spine ache in ways he didn't want to stop at all.

He'd figured he'd never come like this, but the flea was intent on proving him wrong on that score too. Stroking him fiercely, Izaya's hips stilled, the head of his cock a constant pressure inside until Shizuo had to squirm to get him to move again just because it was too fucking _much_.

"No…" He shook his head. "No, fuck it, I… can't…"

"You don't have to." Izaya licked his jaw. "You just have to feel good."

A part of him still said he couldn't. If he felt good, if he let Izaya make him come, if he let himself believe that then and now were a million miles apart, then it'd be over, and the him that still couldn't stand the guy he saw in the mirror wouldn't stand for that.

_But it's over. He'd have paid a fucked up price just to make it so that it was over for me. And if I'm not letting them have this too, then I won't let you have it either._

"Yeah…" Spreading his knees further apart, he hooked his ankles over Izaya's calves. The smile wouldn't quite come, but Izaya would understand anyway. "Make me feel good, Izaya."

One corner of the flea's mouth tugged up in a dangerous smile. "Ah."

Holding onto Izaya's shoulders as the flea began moving again, harder and rougher and deeper but never to the point where it hurt, never to the point where he was afraid, he began to take each memory and replace it with a new one.

Izaya's hands, warm and slick and careful even as they jerked him forcefully enough that Shizuo's thighs trembled. The soft, damp sheets beneath him, smelling of sweat and sweet musk and flea. His name, panted in a harsh, broken mantra as Izaya's body jerked, a perfect look of pissed-off surprise on his face as he came, a look that turned to a furious determination as he kept on fucking him anyway, less pressure than before but Shizuo's body was too far gone to care.

Izaya, making him come, no hurt, no shame, just pleasure.

Just him, coming for the guy who'd made him see he didn't have to feel those things anymore if he didn't want to. That maybe all the reasons he thought he _should_ were bullshit anyway.

He still didn't believe in stupid crap like soul mates, or love at first sight, or how two people could be _that_ dense and stupid for _that_ long that they didn't even recognize what the fuck they were doing…

Well, okay, maybe that last part was plausible. He and Izaya were pretty damn good at dense and stupid. And he hated that it had taken everything breaking down for them to stop doing that, but wasn't there that line about living well being the best revenge? Maybe those bastards hadn't ever thought that far – maybe there really was no overarching reason for it, even though Shizuo knew he'd never quite come to terms with that. Who the fuck got themselves killed over just teaching a guy a lesson, huh? Maybe Takahashi hadn't been lying when he'd said no one gave him a second thought afterwards.

The only place that night existed now was in his head. And what he did with that, when he chose to just let it slip away, was completely in his control.

But the reason he _had_ that control lay against his chest, pale body shimmering with sweat in the dim light.

_Not for the reasons you think, though, flea. I'm gonna have to make you see someday that it's not over 'cause they're dead. It's over 'cause you made me understand I could be okay anyway._

The flea was a panting, shaking deadweight on him for a while, until they both felt the warm, slick moisture pooling on the sheets where their bodies had connected.

Izaya glanced at him dubiously when Shizuo gripped his wrist to stop him from getting up and snatching the towel from the chair and shook his head.

"It's fine. Told you, I want to feel you."

He wanted to feel everything. Rewrite everything, 'normal' included.

This could be normal too, couldn't it? The flush of Izaya's skin, the scent of their sex, that look in the flea's eyes that was part 'are you okay' and part 'you're an idiot'.

Shizuo smiled. He was both, right? But so was Izaya, and since the flea was a hundred times smarter than he was and he was here too, then they had to be doing something right.

"Y'know…" His throat felt raw, voice husky, but it turned out that it was okay when it was for the right reasons. "I've been trying to figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

"When it started."

"Ah, well that's easy, ne…?" With a voice that was as timid as it was full of conviction, Izaya traced a fingertip across the fading scar on Shizuo's chest. "This is when it started."

Before the flea could pull his hand away, Shizuo overlapped it with his own, keeping it there.

"Pretty full of yourself, aren't you?"

"You knew that then, too."

Yeah, he had. But the truth was that Izaya turned out to be so much more fragile, and so much stronger, sometimes all at once, than either of them probably realized at the time.

"And you're hardly one to talk, ne, when you were just full of me too."

"Tch, dumbass…"

For a second he was watching from far away as Izaya's fingers traced patterns on his skin, loops and swirls and lines and dots.

It wasn't the idiot flea's schemes that'd saved him – it'd been _this._ The simple touch of skin on skin, without any of the stupid, frightened bullshit, without any of the fear. Izaya'd never been scared of him, and he'd never been scared of what the flea thought of him.

Shifting onto his side, he watched the curious look narrow those red eyes as Shizuo gripped the flea's wrist, moving it gently away from his chest. The puzzled gaze closed, satisfied as a cat, when he ran his fingers along one pale, slender arm, over the curve of Izaya's shoulder, down over his collarbone.

And beneath his fingertips, he felt the dumbass louse's heartbeat quicken as Izaya realized what he was spelling out.

Not 'I love you', true as it might have been, but the same damn thing the flea'd been branding invisibly on his skin for months in a mark of what he was only now realizing was staking a claim.

His _name_, right over that pounding proof of everything Izaya'd spent forever trying to deny he had at all.

His name, because fuck it, this was _his_, every bit as much as he'd become Izaya's, somewhere between dark Ikebukuro side-streets and wet Ueno rooftops. Somewhere between 'I'll fix you' and 'I love you', and if he was gonna end up collared and tagged then the flea could damn well return the favour.

He didn't know about red strings of fate or any of that bullshit, but he was pretty certain that he and Izaya'd been holding the other end of each others' leashes for a very long time.

When he'd drawn the last line of the last character, he splayed his hand over the warm skin, feeling the flea suck in a quiet breath.

"Shizuo…"

The kiss was lazy, tired, their skin so hot that the damp sheet he tugged up awkwardly over them both felt comfortable. Izaya stretched against his side, one leg draped over Shizuo's, like they'd been doing this forever and fuck it if that wasn't comfortable too.

"You know it'll never work out, ne?"

Smiling up at the ceiling, where the glow of that ugly lamp cast endless circles, he held Izaya tighter. "Mm. You're still a lousy, no-good, scheming flea."

Warm lips smiled against his shoulder. "You're still an unpredictable protozoan with a disgusting nicotine habit."

"My friends hate your guts."

"You have awful taste in friends."

"You have shitty taste in jackets."

"I'd never ask you to move in because you'll break my apartment."

"Yeah, probably…" He grinned, tilting Izaya's face up to his. "But I won't ever break your heart. I know the fucked up shit you'd do to me if I did."

"I told you, ne?" Rolling heavy lidded eyes at that corny as hell remark – like he'd known Izaya would – the flea kissed him. "It's better to skip over all the tedious stuff in the middle."

"Nah, I kinda like the stuff in the middle."

Izaya settled against his chest again. "That's because Shizu-chan's a glutton for punishment. You should be grateful I'm good at it."

"I am." He pressed his lips against the flea's hair, seeking out the touch that he knew would always break him, one way or another. He'd just never expected it'd be the same on that put him back together.

Fingers linking with Izaya's beneath the sheets, he closed his eyes.

"But it's okay either way, right? 'Cause you'll be the one that fixes me."

~END~


End file.
